


The Odd Job

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Series: The Odd Job [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Mycroft, Car Sex, Glasses kink, Italian restaurants, Johncroft, Light Angst, M/M, Mycroft is a tease, Mycroft wears glasses, Office Sex, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Slow Build, They make a lot of jokes, Though Mycroft is topping from the bottom, Top John, blowjob, no really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft hires John to carry out odd jobs for him. They get closer than anticipated. What will Sherlock do when he finds out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was definitely not the way, John had imagined his morning to go. But then again, he had kinda signed up for this, so he was not in a position to be complaining. 

Why would you even want to have coffee in your kitchen, when you could have it at an altitude of several thousand feet? The downside was a slightly diminished taste. The upside was a tasty breakfast to go with it. So, no, he wasn’t complaining.

“You will have to change that dreadful attire, of course.”

“Of course,” John sighed and put down his cup, but didn’t stop to look out of the small window.

The landscape had long disappeared below a thick layer of clouds. While the land below them was shrouded in rain, John could enjoy the sunlight and blue sky from his seat. It was not the only luxury, which presented itself to him, this morning. The plane was a small, private jet. He was one of three passengers, seated in a comfortable area, which looked like a modern living room, complete with a bar. He felt very out of place.

“Just change into the prepared clothes and you will feel more comfortable, I assure you.”

“Not everyone feels at home in expensive suits, Mycroft,” John turned his head to look at the man sitting in the chair opposite to his. “And stop reading my mind. It’s creepy.”

He was greeted by a smirk and a hand waving him away. Having finished his breakfast, John just nodded and retreated to one of the rooms in the back of the jet. No use complaining or arguing. John still wasn’t entirely sure that this had been one of his best ideas, but he would not start a fight with his employer. Well, not now, that was.

The doctor had never given anyone his measurements, but he wasn’t surprised about the fact that the suit was a perfect fit. He wouldn’t ask about it. There was so much that the Holmes brothers did, which warranted an explanation, but John had long since given up on being surprised at all little details. They could both, apparently, read his mind, so why wouldn it be so out of the ordinary that they could do something as mundane as having the perfect suit tailored.

“Suits you,” Mycroft voiced his approval as John emerged from the small room. “Much better than these rubbish jumpers, you insist on wrapping yourself with.”

“Yeah, well, I like them. So they’re staying.”

“For now.”

They glared at each other for a few seconds, but when Anthea cleared her throat, the interruption made them focus on the matter at hand.

“You can dive as deeply into this discussion, as you like, at a later point, gentlemen,” she said calmly as she handed John a file, who nodded a thank you. “For now, we need to concentrate on another matter, even if it might not be as important.”

John chuckled a little, while Mycroft just rolled his eyes at Anthea’s little joke.

“Well, as you can see, there are three men, whom you have to look out for this afternoon,” Mycroft explained, while John eyed the pictures in the file. “They want to stop me from signing the contract, and are willing to use force.”

“And you couldn’t keep them from appearing at the meeting?”

“No, it is a more or less public event, for the involved companies. If they were to be missing, others would grow suspicious,” Mycroft sighed. “I’m not even signing the main contract, only co-signing a minor one. But they know the contents well. Too well. We couldn’t hide it. It will ruin their... organisation.”

“Hum…,” John stared at the photos, committing details about the men’s faces into his memory. “So, I’m to act as your bodyguard, basically.”

“More or less.”

John nodded. That was one of the roles he had signed up for. Not explicitly that, but part of it. When Mycroft had approached him with the idea, he had found it absurd at first. But the government official could be very convincing. It was a very favourable situation, after all - for both sides. John would take on odd jobs for Mycroft, whenever the older Holmes brother needed someone to take care of something, whom he could trust completely. 

John’s association with Sherlock, military and medical qualifications and general personality had made him the perfect candidate. In exchange, the jobs paid so well, John finally had a reason to quit his day job. Now his life consisted almost exclusively of chasing danger with Sherlock and removing Mycroft from the same. He didn’t regret it for one minute, for he had never felt more alive.

“We’re dropping in on the meeting at the last minute and get out again, as quickly as possible,” Anthea explained further.

“Why aren’t you taking one of your own men? I mean, there must be security at the place, anyway?,” John asked, not taking his eye of the photos.

“We can’t be sure of their involvement. I can’t give you any details,” Mycroft sighed and let himself fall back in the chair, eyes never leaving John’s face. “Let me be clear: I wouldn’t have troubled you on such a short notice, if you were unnecessary.”

“Acknowledged,” John looked up and nodded at the other man.

The rest of the flight was shrouded in silence. Anthea wasn’t one for small talk, and John preferred to take some time for himself, to prepare himself mentally for a job. So he was glad to find that Mycroft used the time to go over a pile of documents, instead of trying to initiate a conversation.

John actually enjoyed these quiet moments in Mycroft’s presence more than he cared to admit. Because there was never a calm moment at Baker Street, unless Sherlock was sleeping, he often found himself leaving the flat for some time to avoid getting caught up in the detective’s nervous energy. When meeting Mycroft for a task, there was usually that little while, where John familiarised himself with the details. During that time, none of them spoke, and there was a comfortable atmosphere of understanding between the two men. Not that he didn’t feel that understanding with Sherlock - indeed, it went much deeper than that - but being around Mycroft always seemed to relax him.

It was funny, looking back, how this could come to be. Mycroft had always taken the antagonistic angle regarding Sherlock’s antics, and as extension to John’s, as well. But over time, the doctor had started to glimpse behind the cover of the ‘Iceman’ to find a man, who cared deeply about his brother. It was Sherlock’s behaviour and Mycroft’s position, which made it all but impossible for the two to interact in any way other than the current actions. John had more than once found himself chuckling on the inside, while observing the brothers uphold their facade in front of each other. There was no use trying to convince them to act differently - it was their way of expressing the bond and burden they shared.

Well, once all of that was obvious to John, he had started monitoring Mycroft more closely, noticing the little cracks in the government official’s otherwise impeccable front. And on top of that, the more often they met, the more cracks he was allowed to observe. Or maybe he just grew more conscious of them. He couldn’t really tell.

“We’ll be landing in ten minutes,” the captain announced via the loudspeakers into the cabin. “We have been informed that a car will be waiting for you on the runway. The plane will wait for your return in about an hour’s time.”

“Thank you, captain,” Mycroft acknowledged and looked up from his documents to find John’s eyes, who nodded back at him.

“Well, let’s get this party started, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two men find themselves back on the plane.

That had not entirely gone as planned. They hadn’t anticipated being assaulted during the car ride. That had clearly been a mistake. Not one they couldn’t handle, but a mistake anyway. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that the contract had been signed in time and they were all back in the air, back on their way to London. 

But somehow, everything and everyone involved in the matter, now had a little dent. The car had been pushed partly off the road, resulting in some ugly scratches. The driver had a bruised leg. Anthea had almost broken her arm. Mycroft had hit his head pretty hard, resulting in a mild concussion - with which he still appeared at the meeting and got his job done. Miraculously, the only one emerging unscathed was John. He quietly wished some misfortune upon himself, something bad to happen. It couldn’t be that he, in his function as bodyguard, would be the only one to come out of this not hurt.

But he couldn’t do anything about that now. Back on the plane, John transformed from a military man to his doctor persona, to take care of Anthea and their shared employer. A miraculous transition between two extremes, but they were both so very John. 

The assistant took some heavy painkillers and excused herself to one of the rooms in the back of the jet, to lie down. Her arm was heavily bruised, but the bone was not broken. John couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t party cracked, so he set it and bound it up, all the same, just to be sure.

Mycroft wasn’t as amenable as Anthea, though. He all but pushed John away as the doctor tried to take a look at his head.

"I really do need to write up a report about all this and send it, John," he grumbled. "Now. I can't just lie down."

"No one said anything about lying down. Not yet, anyway," John was used to his fair share of difficult patients. "Look, you were hit on the head. Pretty hard, judging from the impact noise. So do yourself a favor and let me have a look, to assess the damage. You can check your emails while we're at it, for all I care."

Grumpily, Mycroft grabbed his laptop, but as John approached him again, he shaked his head.

"No, that won't do," he said slowly.

"What won't do? Can I finally have a look at your head now?"

Mycroft looked at John. His face clearly showed an internal conflict going on. After a little while, he looked like he had decided on one option.

"I have to remove my contacts... My eyes are burning. I can't look at the screen like this."

"Yeah, sure," John agreed, but then a realisation hit him. "Your... your what?"

"Contacts, John. Contact lenses. Is there something wrong with your ears?"

"No, no... I just... I didn't know you needed those."

"You did actually read my medical file, doctor?"

John pulled his brows into an offended frown and crossed his arms. "What kind of doctor do you take me for? There was nothing about that in there."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, I suppose there isn't. I remember... had it removed."

With those words, he grabbed a small box from his bag and started to remove both lenses.

"May I ask why?"

"You... may," the older Holmes brother answered as he clicked the box close. "I suppose needing any kind of artificial tool to help you function correctly is a sign of weakness. I worked very hard on my image, John. There can be no weaknesses."

"Many people wear glasses."

"I'm not so sloppy. Weaknesses make you human. Relatable. I am none of these things."

"That sounds a bit extreme," John frowned again.

"Extreme circumstances require extreme measures, my dear doctor," Mycroft stowed away the lenses. "You had a glimpse into my job now. How would you describe it?"

"I kinda get it, I guess," John shrugged. "It still feels a little over the top."

Mycroft leaned back, closed his eyes and started to rub slow circles over the closed eyelids. "If you could just accept it as a fact and move on, John. People usually don't talk back to me like this. I find it… disagreeable."

Instead of answering, John stepped closer again, his hands slowly moving over and assessing the wound on the politicians skull. The blood had already been removed during the car ride, but the area was swollen and tender. Luckily it was mostly hidden under hair, otherwise Mycroft couldn't have kept up appearances during the signing. John let out a low chuckle.

"What is so funny?"

“People usually don’t talk back to you?”

“As a general rule, yes.”

“People usually don’t see you like I do, Mycroft.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Deduce it.”

“I’m not Sherlock!” Mycroft sounded a lot more offended than he wanted to.

“No, you’re not. You’re the smart one, as you like to put it,” John smiled. “Here, take these painkillers. I’ll get you something cold to put onto that bruise.”

He handed Mycroft the same, strong painkillers, he had given Anthea and rummaged through the first aid kit for an ice pack. As he looked back up, an unfamiliar sight greeted the doctor. Mycroft had already opened the laptop and started typing away, focusing on the screen through a pair of thick-rimmed, black-frame glasses.

John all but froze in place and stared, ice pack in his hand forgotten. The glasses should’ve been a logical conclusion, after the contact lenses, but the sight of them threw the doctor off more than he was prepared for.

Frankly, it was actually quite a normal sight. A man in a suit, with glasses, typing away on a laptop. But the way the little accessory framed Mycroft’s face in just the right way, the way it perfectly matched his image, completed it even, was not normal, at least not to John. He could imagine Mycroft choosing these frames with just as much care and deliberation, as everything he chose to wear. Probably took quite a while to find some, that fit so well. That was so like him, obsessing over the details of something, no one would ever see him wear. Well, until now, at least.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you going to hand me that ice pack, or are you going to keep standing there, freezing your own fingers?”

“Ah, yeah…” 

John shuffled closer and awkwardly placed the pack on Mycroft’s head, who looked back down onto the screen of his laptop.

“I’m sorry, but I have to finish this, and cannot type very well with just one hand. Could you hold that for me for just a few minutes?”

“Ah, uhm… sure,” John agreed.

“Thank you.”

Well, that was awkward. He caught me staring. Or did he…?, John’s thoughts were racing. He positioned himself next to Mycroft in a way that he could hold the ice pack, but hide his face from the other man, as he felt a telltale blush creeping up on him. During the next minutes, he stole some glances at the politician, but on the whole actually calmed down a lot. It helped a lot to hear Mycroft mumble under his breath about how much he despised field work and would never, ever do a stupid thing like this again - see where it got him.

Suddenly, Mycroft closed his laptop and raised a hand to take over holding the ice pack in place. John removed his hand, but their fingers brushed past each other. The doctor turned around immediately and busied himself with tidying up the medical kit. For a few minutes, neither of them said a word, though John could hear Mycroft sigh and slump back into the chair. He was impressed by the isolation of the jet cabin, which was so well done, he could hear the movement of the cloth of Mycroft's suit, as the politician shifted around.

"Do they look so bad?"

"Sorry?" John was slightly startled by the soft question, as he put away the med kit.

“My glasses. Do they look so bad on me?”

John turned around to see Mycroft leaning on the arm, which pressed the cooling pack to his head, looking at the doctor with a mixture of resignation and… expectancy?

“Why are you asking?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “You were staring. Looking shocked, even.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, the inclination of his head making him look at John above the rim of the glasses. John swallowed. There was no way to explain how that simple gesture could look so incredibly… hot.

“What word would you use, then?”

“I was… thinking,” he stumbled a little over his words. “About why you would go through the trouble to find something, which suits you so well, only to never wear it in public.”

“Ah, I believe I explained that to you earlier.”

“Still…”

Mycroft slowly pushed his glasses back to their right position with his free hand, eyes never leaving John’s.

“If you like them so much, I shall wear them more often in your presence, shall I?”

John was incredibly glad that the captain chose that very moment to announce their imminent landing, which required him to move back to his seat, because he wouldn’t have been able to look at Mycroft’s knowing smirk for one second longer without blushing for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glasses. That is all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John picks up a package.

It had been a slow, slow, very slow week. John had never thought it possible for him to wish someone to be murdered, but at this very particular moment, he was about to leave the flat and make some kind of homicide happen, just to put a stop to this madness.

Not like he wanted to, or even could place a foot into the toxic atmosphere creeping through the kitchen and sitting room area. Lacking anything else to keep him occupied, Sherlock had come up with another, brilliant experiment. John sometimes wondered where the detective got his inspiration for these from, but was frankly happy to leave that matter untouched.

On one hand, he hadn’t heard of Sherlock much these past days, as the man was closely monitoring a veritable jungle of plants, cluttering all available surfaces throughout the flat, which was a relief. On the other hand, he found himself checking in on the other man frequently, just to make sure he hadn’t collapsed from any sort of poisoning.

Sherlock had taken to spray the plants with various chemicals, recording their reactions and discoloration of leaves minutely. It was an important study, apparently. It would make it easier to tell which brand of cleaner had been dumped onto the plants of a garden. Or something like that. Frankly, John didn’t bother. But he was quite sure that sometime during the next months, a case would appear, in which this exact knowledge would be needed, and he would have to apologise to Sherlock for his lack of interest during the experiment. Such was his luck.

The frequent use of airborne chemicals made the air in the flat very hard to breathe in without coughing. Taking no heed of John’s advice and ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s complaints, Sherlock would remain in his room throughout the day and drop in on the plants every hour to record any changes. He refused to open the windows anywhere, except his own room, of course.

All of this had John sit around his own room when we was at Baker Street, which was increasingly boring. The downside of having quit his day job was the lack of anything to do while there was no case. He had always been comfortable with periods of downtime, but the longer they went on, he started to share Sherlock’s nervous tension. At those moments, he just had to get out.

Normally, he would take long walks through London. Today, when he left the door and strolled down the street, he just stopped walking after a minute or two and sighed deeply, looking up into the cloudy sky.

Whatever did I do before I went to Afghanistan, when I had downtimes? Did I have a hobby? Should I take one up? Should I return to work? Ugh…

Hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket, he leaned against an iron fence and observed the people walking by, without any particular idea what to do next. After a while, he found himself looking closer as the people passing him, taking in little details and forming his own little theories about their life. A smile passed over his face when he had concluded that the man, waiting for someone on the opposite side of the street, was probably a father, and a minute later a woman with a child emerged from a shop to join him. It wasn’t all that difficult to see, but he was a little proud, anyway. He didn’t spend his time hanging around Sherlock for nothing.

Sherlock. That brilliant idiot. At least he had a hobby, in which he indulged between cases. If you could call these mad experiments a hobby. John wasn’t even sure what kind of hobby he could take up. Going to the pub wasn’t exactly what you would describe as such?

The sound of a text message ripped him from this line of thoughts.

You look bored. -MH

I won’t ask how you even know that. And, yes. I am. -JW

There’s at least three cameras, which give me quite a clear view of you. -MH

We have how. Now we need why. -JW

Instead of another message, the phone rang.

“Hello John,” a deep voice greeted the doctor.

“Mycroft.”

“I was about to call you about Sherlock’s current state, but your phone showed that you’re not inside Baker Street, but rather standing around on the street in front of it... for quite a while.”

“Yeah, well, I am bored. Congratulations for figuring it out. Sitting in my room all day is not really the most productive use of my time.”

“A package was left under a bench in Regent’s Park. I can send you the coordinates. I’d appreciate if you could pick it up and deliver it to me.”

“A package?”

“Not intended for my eyes, of course. But I’d like to intercept it all the same.”

“And you’re asking me, because…?”

“Because any of my men could get it, but you seem like you need a goal for your walk.”

“Alright. I’ll drop by later, then,” John nodded into the direction of the only CCTV, which he could make out among the buildings. “Mycroft.”

“John.”

Smiling inwardly, John immediately made his way towards Regent’s Park, as the coordinates arrived via text message. Well, that was oddly convenient. Here he was, wondering what to do next, when this little errand just popped up. Not wanting to read too much into it, he still very much appreciated the gesture. Mycroft was showing a lot of empathy to John’s situation. An after effect of their last meeting on the plane, maybe? Well, that had been weeks ago, and John hadn’t heard from Sherlock’s older brother since. Maybe that wasn’t it, then. Maybe John really just had to take care of this errand, because he was the closest to the scene?

While the doctor moved through the park with purpose in his stride, but measured enough not to look like he was rushing, he pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He found the package easily enough, and after observing the area for a while, picked it up and disappeared as quickly as possible. It was a small, not very heavy, rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, bound with a piece of string. Feeling the edges, John thought it could be a book inside, but that wasn’t really his concern.

\---

“You’re doing that on purpose,” John wanted to slam the package onto Mycroft’s desk, but as he wasn’t sure about the content, he carefully placed it as menacingly as possible in front of the government official.

“Much obliged.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“There wasn’t one. You stated a fact.”

“So you admit it?”

“Whatever should I admit?”, Mycroft smiled and stowed the package away, somewhere in his desk.

“You’re wearing the glasses on purpose,” John clarified. “Why?”

Mycroft’s smile widened into a grin. “I believe you rather approve of that, no?”

“I can’t say I’m opposed,” John mumbled.

“We’ve established that, then. Care for a drink?”

“Yes.” Oh god, yes.

Mycroft gestured in the direction of an armchair, which was placed close to the bookshelves, as he raised. John sat down and watched the other man approach the small bar, which was conveniently concealed in the middle of the shelf. It wasn’t the first time John joined Mycroft for a drink in the late afternoon, since he had started out carrying out the odd jobs. It also wasn’t the first time, the doctor had a feeling that the arrangement wasn’t mainly to his own benefit. Much to Mycroft’s credit, though, John actually felt like he was doing valuable work, most of the time. He felt adequately challenged by the tasks, and was well compensated. 

John also felt like it wasn’t at all like Mycroft to be doing this just out of goodwill. Well, it hadn’t started out like that. In the beginning, the jobs were frequent, but the men didn’t linger around each other for more time than necessary. Recently, though, John found himself keeping Mycroft company for some time outside the actual tasks. Sherlock’s older brother would also more often ask about him through John, or drop in unannounced. Maybe he had also done that in the past, when John would’ve been at work, and couldn’t notice? A possibility. Still, it felt like not only the doctor started to cherish the little moments of quiet understanding between them.

Mycroft handed him a glass.

“Lagavulin, 16 years. I hope you approve.”

John nodded and took the glass carefully into his hand. He had been drinking so many different whiskeys in Mycroft’s office by now. Never the same one twice. This one had a strong, but sweet aroma.

“To alleviating boredom,” Mycroft said, after he sat down in the armchair opposite to John and holding out his glass.

“To some unfortunate bloke getting murdered, so I can use my own flat again,” John answered.

“Yes. And to that,” Mycroft grinned.

After the toast, they sat in silence for a while. Mycroft played with his glass, but mostly had his eyes closed, leaning back into the comfortable chair, enjoying a moment of peace.

John, in turn, was everything but relaxed. He took every moment, he could get, to steal glances. He was sure, that Mycroft gave him the opportunities on purpose - there was no way you could steal glances at a Holmes without him noticing - but frankly, he couldn’t care less.

If the politician had looked good on the plane, wearing the black framed glasses, then in this setting, he looked absolutely sublime. He was wearing a dark brown, three-piece tweed suit and a red tie. The suit jacket was open to reveal the golden buttons on the vest. John had this suit categorised as one of his favourites. As soon as he realised that line of thought, he took a big gulp of whiskey. The strong taste helped him focus his mind a little.

“It’s rather sweet,” he said, after a while.

“Yes. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

Mycroft had opened his eyes again, had them focussed on the glass in his hand, in which he moved the liquid in a slow, circular motion.

“John?”, he said softly, after a while.

“Uhm… yeah?”

“Would you care for an experiment?”

“You’re asking the guy, who is currently traumatised by one.”

“Oh, no, not that kind of experiment,” Mycroft smiled and took a sip of the whiskey. “I had something different in mind.”

It was John’s turn to raise an eyebrow now. He shifted back into his chair, back straightening unconsciously, uncomfortably.

“Something different?”, he asked, carefully.

“Yes. Would you care to indulge me?”

“I guess…”

“So, how about this: We stare into each others eyes for a few minutes, see what happens.”

“What?”

“You’ve been avoiding my gaze today. I don’t like it. Consider it a compensation for the whiskey.”

John wasn’t sure what to say. Blinking a few times, he laid eyes on Mycroft again, who was already staring at him intently. Some voice in his head told him to be wary of the politician’s agenda, but he quickly waved it away.

“Compensation? Implying that you get something out of it, when I stare at you?”, John tried.

Mycroft grinned. “You catch up quickly. Much more quickly than the average idiot.”

John grinned in response. Anyone else would’ve probably taken this as an insult, but he knew better.

“Alright. I don’t know where you want to go with this, but I’ll indulge you, as you like to put it.”

John shifted in his seat and put the whiskey glass on a little table next to it. The armchairs were more or less placed to accommodate a conversation between two people, so they were almost facing each other already. Mycroft also put his glass down, leaned back, right elbow on the armrest, head resting on his right hand. He crossed his legs, other hand lying on his knee. John didn’t really find a comfortable position, so he just leaned forward, placing both elbows on his knees, entwined his fingers, and also rested his head on his hands.

After a few moments of uneasiness, John managed to keep his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s. He quickly realised that looking at the other man in this way, felt really different than any other gaze they had shared in the past. It was unrushed, inquisitive… intimate. Neither of them said a word, as they just watched, searching for the other’s thoughts in their eyes.

John was almost sure that Mycroft could read his thoughts, while he, himself, was occupied by taking in the picture in front of him, committing it to memory. It could almost be a painting, this man, placed at ease in his elaborate armchair, expensive clothes, whiskey glass resting next to him. Sherlock had once jokingly compared Mycroft to the Queen, when they had visited Buckingham Palace. John was sure that Mycroft couldn’t have looked more regal, if he would actually sit on a throne.

But everything was only second to these glasses. These fucking, fascinating, brilliant pair of glasses. John had never felt so much attraction to Mycroft before he had laid eyes on the black frames, and he was still puzzled as to why it was suddenly all so… urgent. It felt like Mycroft was finally complete, not whole without them.

“You really like them,” Mycroft purred softly, not moving.

John felt his face heat up and retreated to an upright sitting position, torso further away from the man in the other chair.

“You really, really do like them,” Mycroft repeated.

John gave up. He sighed and nodded.

In that moment, Mycroft jumped up and was in John’s personal space in a matter of seconds. He reminded the doctor of a big cat, pouncing. The motion was too quick for him to react, nor did he particularly want to, which was even more alarming.

The doctor found himself pressing back into the seat, head getting enveloped by the soft cushion, looking up at Mycroft, who had his hands placed on both armrests, legs between his, looking down. John felt his mouth fall open a little, taking in the picture of Mycroft leaning over him, looking at him through those perfect glasses.

He raised a hand, cautiously placing his fingers on the rim of the glasses, tracing them slowly. Mycroft didn’t move, just let the doctor explore. Encouraged by that, John bushed his fingers past Mycroft’s cheek and lips as he retreated his hand. As a response, he felt Mycroft leaning in even closer, pressing one knee between his leg. Their faces were now only centimeters apart.

“John? May I kiss you?”

Despite the tension, the doctor had to grin. Of course, the other man would ask for permission. Instead of answering, he grabbed the politician’s tie and dragged him closer, so their lips would finally meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I tend to go for the slow buildup. More action in the next chapter, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft and his fucking three piece suits. Mycroft and his fucking impeccable manners. Mycroft and his fucking glasses.

John couldn’t think of anything else, while he grabbed onto the politician’s collar and pulled him closer, always closer. Their kiss was hot and urgent, so very urgent. Tongues exploring the other’s mouth, teeth almost clashing. He felt his whole body heat up underneath the other man. I was impossible to stop kissing him for even one second, even though he was desperate to come up for air. 

Mycroft seemed to share his enthusiasm, as he now put his whole weight on John, placing his hands next to the doctor’s head, grabbing at the cloth of the armchair.

It was hot, close, indescribable. John hadn’t felt so turned on in a long time. It was… too much. He put both hands on Mycroft’s chest and forced him to back up a little. The other man complied, removing his mouth from John’s. Their heads were only a few centimeters apart now. But the look on Mycroft face was about to turn him on even more than the kiss.

They were both panting, entirely out of breath, staring at each other without uttering a word. John almost got lost in those dilated eyes, in swirls of blue and grey, not unlike a stormy sky. Mycroft’s lips were slightly red and still glistening, his hair party disheveled. He had never expected to see the other man looking so debauched, but the only thing it did to him was making him wonder if he could tip Mycroft even more over the edge.

As if he had read his thoughts, Mycroft leaned in and licked slowly along John’s lips, before retreating again. This made John shudder and release a little moan.

“Just as I thought, you’re focusing on the glasses,” Mycroft said with a low chuckle. “If I had known that it would take only those to get you interested, I would’ve worn them earlier.”

John’s head was hazy, but not too far gone to pick up on that.

“Earlier?”

“Oh, John. You are not aware of how delicious you are,” Mycroft purred and dragged his tongue along John’s jaw, as if to prove it. “But now I know what you react to, and I will not refrain from using this knowledge against you.”

“Fuck you, Mycroft.”

“Hm… maybe later,” the other man laughed, making it sound both like a threat and a promise.

John leaned his head back to give Mycroft better access to his throat, as the other started to place kisses on his jaw, moving downward. He dragged his lips and tongue along John’s jugular, sometimes exposing his teeth, which made John inhale sharply and squirm in his seat. Mycroft made sure to press his knee purposely closer into John’s crotch, while sucking on his neck.

“Mycroft…,” John huffed, dragging the other man’s head up again, locking their lips in another kiss, just as heated as the first one, if not more, now that he was getting comfortable with the situation. Their kiss tasted like the expensive whiskey, strong and heady, and at the same time unbelievably sweet.

He felt Mycroft smile against his mouth as John started to move his hips a little, craving friction, pressing his obvious erection against the other mans leg. Without breaking the kiss, Mycroft moved one hand down to palm John through his trousers. At the first touch, John let out an involuntary moan, louder than he wanted to, leaning his head back again, feeling his cheeks redden of embarrassment.

“Stay like this,” Mycroft whispered into Johns ear and licked it, before starting to slowly slide down, until he was kneeling between John’s legs, arms wrapped around his torso, pressing his head to John’s stomach for a few seconds, in a gesture, which felt too intimate, even for their current situation.

He slid his hands beneath John’s jumper, shoving it upwards, then pulled the shirt from John’s trousers and also pulled it up, to reveal bare skin. John’s breath hitched as Mycroft pressed his lips to his skin, kissing and sucking him all over. He felt his erection pressing uncomfortably against the inside of his trousers. He was so hard, there was no way Mycroft couldn’t feel him twitching under him, as close as he was currently pressed to him.

Stopping to lick John’s skin, Mycroft backed off a bit, getting to work on opening the doctor’s trousers. John looked down to see the other man gently pull down the fabric a bit, making his own erection spring free, already wet at the tip. John knew how blowjobs worked, and he was pretty sure he was getting one any second now. But still, the anticipation made him squirm and shift in the seat, cock twitching up. Mycroft grinned and placed his hands on John’s hip, holding him in place.

“Calm down,” he said, voice lower than John had ever heard, licking across his lips with a grin.

“I don’t want to,” John answered, hands digging into the armrests, finding not enough cloth to grab on to.

“Good.”

Mycroft leaned forward and ran his tongue across John’s cock in a very long and slow motion, from the the base to the tip. John had to stifle his moans, breathing hard, head thrown back again. The image of Mycroft licking his erection was too much, too much to take it right now. He breathed in and out through his mouth as Mycroft continued to lick and tease him, hands still on his hip, massaging him gently, throwing John back and forth between tension and relaxation, until the tension definitely took over. He thrust his hips up needily, brushing the tip of his cock against Mycroft’s mouth, as he was hovering over it.

“Look at me, John.”

John shook his head. It was too much. One look at Mycroft in his fucking glasses, between his legs, had almost been too much already.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

John let out a deep sigh and tilted his head down to meet Mycroft’s eyes. The politician grinned in approval and deliberately licked the side of John’s cock, so that the other would see his tongue running up the length.

“Ugh… It’s you,” John huffed. “You and your fucking glasses. If I have to look at them any longer, I won’t be able to… contain myself.”

“But, my dear John, that is exactly what I was going for,” Mycroft purred and lowered his head. “If you look away, I will stop.”

John’s eyes widened. That could only be a joke, couldn’t it?

“You are thinking. I can see it. I am not joking.”

John’s shoulders fell and he nodded. He didn't want to stop now. He couldn't.

“Perfect. I am going to suck you off now. Watch me," Mycroft said in a low tone, somewhere between amused and threatening. "Watch. Me."

Without another warning, John’s cock disappeared into the other man’s mouth, and suddenly everything was hot and wet and perfect. Resisting the urge to throw back his head again, it took John everything he had to keep looking down on Mycroft’s head bobbing up and down. He couldn’t have cheated if he tried, as Mycroft was keeping a steady gaze upwards, searching for John’s eyes continuously.

It was almost pornographic. Mycroft looking at him like that while giving him some of the best head, he had ever received, looking so pleased with himself, sucking and licking John’s cock. Mycroft looking at him through his glasses, which slid down a little with every movement, his hair a glorious mess. John removed his hands from the armrests and reached down, pushing the glasses back up Mycroft’s nose when they were about to fall off, caressing the frames for a few seconds, then placing the hands into Mycroft’s hair.

John closed his eyes for a few seconds, feeling overwhelmed, but snapped right back when he remembered Mycroft's threat, finding the other man's eyes again.

The moment he digged his fingers into the reddish strands of hair, Mycroft let out a low and needy moan, which rumbled through his body, the sound and vibration going directly into John’s erection. That was the last straw. He felt his muscles tighten and a warm feeling pooled between his legs. His fingers unconsciously tightened in Mycroft’s hair as he found his release in the other man's mouth. He vaguely remembered that he shouldn't be holding Mycroft's head down as hard as was doing it right now, but the other made every effort to swallow down everything John poured down his throat, without even one movement, which would suggest he would want to pull away.

When Mycroft finally raised his head again, he smiled at John, as he licked across his lips. John fell back into the chair, exhausted, breathing hard. He observed Mycroft, as he reached for his Whiskey glass, pouring the rest of the liquid down his throat, swallowing hard.

"Mhmm... delicious," he purred, entirely aware of the double meaning he imbued his words with. John was unable to find any coherent words.

A buzzing noise ripped him out of his brainless stupor. Mycroft stood up effortlessly, brushing out any creases in his suit along the way. John was pleased to see a telling bulge in Mycroft's pants before the politician turned to walk to his desk, and just a little sad to realise that the noise meant, he probably couldn't take care of it right now.

"Yes?", Mycroft asked, after pressing a button on his desk.

"Your 4pm appointment will be here in five minutes, Sir."

"Thank you."

Mycroft turned back to John, who had already pulled up his trousers again, currently stuffing his shirt back into his trousers. He stepped closer, so close, their bodies were touching. John had to look up to the taller man. Mycroft leaned down a little, picking up John's Whiskey glass. Smirking, he emptied it, then pressed his lips to the doctor's, letting the liquid flow from his mouth into the other man's. John melted under him and eagerly gulped down every last drop. It burned in his throat, but was perfect. As they separated, he licked Mycroft's lips, who, in turn, chuckled low.

"As much as I'd like to continue this, my dear doctor, duty calls."

"Hmm...," John pressed his leg into Mycroft's crotch, which made the other man shiver. "Too bad."

Mycroft pushed him away and smiled. "The waiting will make it all the more sweeter, believe me."

"I'll take your word for it," John pressed a light kiss to Mycroft's lips, then stepped away to find a mirror and remove any signs of their previous activity.

Mycroft stood next to him and did the same. Their eyes found each other in the reflection. The older Holmes brother removed his glasses and nodded at John.

The doctor left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock does something stupid.

John didn’t have to wait long until he was able to see Mycroft again, but it wasn’t the situation he had hoped for. After returning to his apartment at Baker Street, he was annoyed to find his and Sherlock’s living quarters still occupied by the jungle he had left earlier that day. The air was hardly breathable, which was a feat in itself, considering the plants should be able to produce at least some oxygen.

“Sherlock, this has to stop!”, John knocked angrily at Sherlock’s bedroom door, face covered with the his jumper, drawn up. “Find something else to do, please.”

He heard no answer. Looking around the kitchen, he found several open notebooks lying on the table between various sorts of cacti, all filled with tables and numbers, he wouldn’t even try to make sense of. Checking the cupboards, he found his box of tea. He opened it to sniff at the contents, happily finding that none of the dreadful atmosphere had seeped into them. Quickly closing the lid again, he purposely sat the box onto the counter and started removing the plants, which littered it to the sitting room floor. As soon as he had cleared enough working space, he made his way back to Sherlock’s door.

Another sequence of knocks, this time longer.

“Sherlock? We will remove the plants and air out the place, if it takes us all night. And if you don’t come out right now, I’ll be throwing out the notebooks along with them.”

Again, no answer. Was the detective not in? That couldn’t be. As closely as he had monitored the plants during the last week, there was no way he had time to leave the apartment. John grew worried. He knocked at the door again. Still nothing. Alright, there was only so much privacy, he could give his flatmate, when he had been exposed to chemicals almost 24/7 during the last days.

Slowly opening Sherlock’s door - thank god it wasn’t locked - he cautiously stepped into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that the window was closed and the curtains drawn. The air was sticky. Before trying to make out anything, the doctor stepped to the window and opened it, letting in air and a bit of light.

He turned around to find Sherlock’s figure lying sprawled out on the bed. He couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or just sleeping. A quick check showed that the detective was indeed not sleeping, but rather knocked out. His skin was pale and his breathing shallow. He didn’t respond when John tried to wake him up. Panicking, he grabbed his phone and called an ambulance.

Silently cursing himself for not taking better notice of his flatmate’s health, John sat next to Sherlock on the bed and propped his head up.

“Sherlock… Sherlock, can you hear me?”, he tried, talking softly. “Sherlock, please open your eyes.”

After what seemed an eternity, repeated questions and gentle shaking of shoulders, Sherlock opened his eyes slightly.

“John?”, he whispered hoarsely. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Sherlock! Jesus, you had me worried! You’ve been out cold!”

Sherlock blinked a few times and took a look around the room. He noticed the open window and fell back into the pillow with a sigh.

“You look angry.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” John grumbled. “It’s one thing to be doing these mad experiments. It’s another to endanger one’s life while doing so. You promised me you had it under control. I would’ve never let you go through with this, if you hadn’t!”

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I had it under control, John,” he said slowly. “I had just finished recording the changes at 2pm, I felt a little dizzy and retreated to my room to rest and some fresh air.”

“Fresh air? Leaving the windows closed?”

“I may or may not have collapsed onto the bed as I entered the room. I may have not been able to open the window at that point, it being on the opposite site of the room.”

“Ah, clearly,” John sighed, hand digging into his own hair out of frustration. “You are aware that it’s already 7pm now?”

“What?”, Sherlock snapped upwards in shock, only to almost faint from the sudden movement and drop back on the pillows. “Ah, shit. The experiment’s continuation is ruined now.”

“Great. Does that mean we can remove the plants from the apartment?”

“I can’t continue my observations like this. They’re meaningless now.”

John wanted to throw a witty comeback at Sherlock, but he was interrupted by a heavy knock on the door of the apartment and some shouts.

“Who’s that?”, Sherlock asked.

“The ambulance. We’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure you haven’t done any permanent damage.”

“That is entirely unnecessary!”

“Yeah, well, you can’t move, and I’m willing to knock you out, if you attempt to resist during the transport. So shut it,” John glared at his flatmate, for good measure, and made his way to the kitchen, to let the ambulance crew in.

He apologised for the jungle in the apartment, directed them to Sherlock’s bedroom and couldn’t help but grinning at the detective’s feeble attempts to talk the doctor out of taking him to the hospital, who in turn pressed a mask to the detective’s face, which effectively shut him up. To make sure that Sherlock wouldn’t pull any stunt, he jumped on the ambulance, as well, and accompanied the madman to his inspection.

\---

“I wanted to call you in the morning. Had something dug up to occupy my brother. It does not seem like you will need that now.”

John didn’t immediately look up from his phone, but he could place the posh shoes and umbrella, as well as the smug voice, anyway.

“Sorry, just a second. Got to text Mrs. Hudson. Let her know that Sherlock survived and we’re going to get rid of the jungle asap.”

“Very well,” Mycroft answered and placed himself next to John on the bench, which was situated in the hallway outside Sherlock’s room in the hospital.

John typed as quickly as he could, but took the time to check the text for any typos, before he sent it. He hated those. Nodding to himself, he placed the phone into his pocket, then looked to his right.

“Good evening, Mycroft,” he smiled.

“Good night, rather. It is just like my brother to make me leave home at this ungodly hour,” the older Holmes sighed. “I take it he will live?”

“Yes. He’ll live,” John leaned back against the wall, eyes turned up to the ceiling. “He didn’t take any permanent damage, either. I don’t know if I should be happy about that.”

“Because he will never learn it, that way?”

John laughed. “Yes, you get it. I mean, I don’t mind the experiments. I can see their value. Well, partly. What I hate is his absolute disregard for his own safety... Though I don’t think he’d stop doing this crap, even if he had lost an arm or anything.”

“John, you can not lose an arm due to gas pois…,” Mycroft started.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” John interrupted him. “I’m a doctor, remember? Jesus, you two…”

Mycroft chuckled. John was glad for his company, the easy and relaxed mood Mycroft was bringing with him. He couldn’t imagine that anyone else would wish the Iceman to appear to cheer them up - or rather, could even imagine it. But he was even more glad to see that their companionship apparently wasn’t influenced by their… escapade yesterday.

“Thanks for being here,” John said. “But it was not really necessary. Sherlock is fine. He’ll be home in one or two days. They want to keep him a bit to look for signs of… well, anything, really.”

“Oh, I think it was necessary,” Mycroft lightly placed his hand on John’s and started to stroke the doctor’s fingers.

“Ah, I see,” John laughed quietly and relaxed at the touch.

“What are you doing about the plants?”, Mycroft asked after a while of silence.

“Hmm… Some of them are quite nice. I might keep one or two. But most of them have to go. A large number has already died or is about to. I feel like Sherlock should do the cleanup, but he won’t be home tomorrow, and I really, really want to use my own apartment again.”

“I could send some people to pick everything up,” Mycroft suggested.

“Nah, thank you. I’ll manage. I have a plan in mind.”

“Yes? Do tell,” Mycroft had also leaned back against the wall, now turning his head towards John, who was already looking in his direction.

“I’m keeping all the plants, which still live and place them all over Sherlock’s bedroom, so he has to clean up at least some part of the house, when he comes home,” John grinned. “If I can’t use my kitchen, he should at least not be able to use his bedroom for one day.”

“Ah, I’d like to see his face,” Mycroft laughed.

John fell in with Mycroft’s laughter. A few hours ago he had felt angry, then concerned, then exhausted. Now he felt rather giddy and happy.

“Alright, I better move home, then,” John said, removing his hand from under Mycroft’s. “If I’m going to be cleaning out the apartment tomorrow, I need some sleep.”

“Let me drive you,” Mycroft said.

“That’s…,” John was about to refuse, but then just shrugged. “Oh well, why not. Lead the way.”

Mycroft smiled and leaned over to place a tentative kiss on John’s lips. After their actions yesterday, it felt almost chaste. He raised and held out a hand to the doctor, who grabbed it and let himself pull to his feet.

They walked out of the hospital together, hands almost touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy writing Mycroft and John just... talk. Don't worry, they'll be doing something else soon(ish). :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John carries out another odd job.

John woke up to his mobile phone buzzing. He blinked into the light, trying to guess the time, before he started to move. After the long day, he had slept like a stone. For such a slow start, a lot had happened yesterday. Most of it had been positive, at least. As for Sherlock… well, he wasn’t dead, which was definitely a good thing.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand confirmed his suspicion. It was almost noon. He must’ve been really tired. Stretching under the blanket, John resisted the urge to cuddle back into the warmth of the bed, but instead reached for his phone.

Remember the little job I dug up for Sherlock, which I told you about yesterday? I would still need it done, and you could fill in for him. -MH

John yawned and scratched his head. Well, he was rested now. And the only other thing to do today was cleaning up the apartment. Might as well ask what it’s about…

What and when would that be? -JW

Shadowing one of my employees on his afternoon break. I suspect he is leaking information. -MH

You’re right, that would rather be a job for Sherlock. But I’ll take it, anyway. -JW

My office, 4pm. -MH

Alright. Until then. -JW

John sat up and put the phone back onto the nightstand. 4pm. That would give him a little time to clean up some of the flat and get a snack in. Remembering how dirty most of the plants were, he went directly to the sitting room, opting for the shower afterwards. And that had been a good idea, he realised later. Even with all windows open, the air somehow refused to circulate well, leaving a sticky and sweet atmosphere in the flat. John sighed at the thought of the moisture sinking into the furniture.

The first order of business was choosing two plants, which should remain in the room. He opted for a small palm and a bamboo, which looked surprisingly healthy. Then the doctor took about an hour, carrying all remaining, living plants into Sherlock’s bedroom, arranging them mostly around the detective’s bed, and generally everywhere, he thought to be most annoying and path blocking. In a stroke of genius, he placed all small cacti under Sherlock’s blanket, hoping to hear either hear an annoyed or a pained shout at their eventual discovery.

The amount of potted plants, which could fit into their apartment, was staggering. John counted all but 42 pots, which he had carried into Sherlock’s bedroom. And there was about the same amount left in the sitting room, mostly dead or in the process of dying. John sighed inwardly and started typing a text message.

Does your offer to have someone pick the plants up still stand? -JW

The answer came within minutes.

Of course. -MH

Great. Can you arrange for some people to pick up the remains of the jungle? -JW

Yes. My pleasure. -MH

Thank you. Would tomorrow work? -JW

Don’t worry, I have the keys. It can be done while you are away. -MH

John sighed. Of course Mycroft would have the keys to his apartment.

No comment. See you soon. -JW

Looking forward. -MH

The doctor smiled at Mycroft’s response, which had totally ignored his own, and retreated to the shower.

\---

John nodded at Mycroft’s assistant at the door, who gave him a brief smile in response. Due to his frequent visits, John was well known to Mycroft’s staff, and didn’t need to bother stopping at the reception, anymore. It always gave him a slight feeling of superiority - to be able to just walk by other people, who were waiting to be let into the building, strolling down the corridor exactly knowing where to go. He suspected Mycroft to know this, and had told his people to just let him walk in, so John would have a little fun each time he entered the building. He also suspected Mycroft watching him through the security cameras, but it was surprising how quickly you could get used to something like this.

The doctor knocked on the door and entered, finding Mycroft seated at his desk, reading through some documents. He raised his head, and their eyes found each other. Mycroft already sported a pleased smile.

“So glad you could make it, John,” he said and pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, do sit down.”

John moved slowly through the room, as he always did. The atmosphere was as warm and calming, as ever. Warm colours, dark wood and a smell of old books always made him feel right at home. To him, the office felt removed from reality, a small place of peace. He had never told Mycroft so, but he suspected that the older Holmes had chosen the interior to this effect, and was well aware of the room’s qualities.

“So, what’s the problem, exactly?”, John asked as he sat down, crossing his legs.

“Well,” Mycroft cleared his throat. “There has been a leak of information on some internal processes last week, and we had all concerned employees checked. Discreetly, of course. The man, who you are going to shadow, is the most likely suspect.”

“And you think he’d be so stupid to sell information on his break? Wouldn’t he wait until after work?”

“We have had him under surveillance outside of work for the last three days - nothing,” Mycroft sighed. “You will have to observe him inside the cafe, which he usually frequents during his afternoon break.”

“Alright. Well, then, just point me where I’ll need to go.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and smiled at John. “Oh, John, one of these days I will have to thank Sherlock for picking you up.”

John was entirely startled by this sudden change of topic and actually blushed at Mycroft’s words.

“Wha… What?”, he stammered.

Mycroft stood up and slowly walked around his desk, until he was placed right behind John’s chair. He placed his hands on the doctor’s shoulders, then lowered his head, so his mouth was right beside John’s right ear.

“Always so eager to jump into action, always so eager to please,” he whispered into John’s ear. “Reliable and loyal to a fault. I could go on, but I see from the color of your ears, that your head might overheat if I do.”

Before John could utter a word, Mycroft started nibbling on the rim of his ear, which made the doctor’s breath hitch slightly.

“It is such a shame that I will have to let you go now, my dear John,” Mycroft purred in a low tone. “But you will miss your target, if I keep you any longer.”

With those words he licked over John’s ear one last time and straightened himself upwards. He gave John a little push, so the doctor would jump to his feet. There was a little awkward silence between them, John still standing with his back to the politician, but it was quickly dispelled by the doctor breaking out into laughter.

“You bastard,” he said, turning around. “You’re so bloody good in catching me off guard. Just wait, you’ll get that all back, at one point.”

“I was rather hoping for that,” Mycroft smirked.

“Alright,” John still chuckled. “See you later.”

The doctor bridged the distance between them with one big step and pulled Mycroft down for a brief kiss before he turned and left the room.

\---

Either the man, who he was currently observing, was a damn good spy, or not one at all. John couldn’t see any suspicious behaviour. The man wasn’t even meeting someone. Just got a coffee, sat down at a table, took twenty minutes to drink said coffee, and then returned to the office. The only person, he had contact with in the cafe, was the waiter. John sighed. He hated to return without results.

When the man exited the cafe, the doctor was quick on his feet, all but sprinting over to the table, where the suspect had been sitting. He had only left a daily newspaper, the kind you could get on the train, for free. Not wanting to take any chances, John pocketed the paper anyway, and made his exit from the shop as quickly as he could.

In the safety of a park bench, shrouded from the view of most of his surroundings by the thick vegetation, John opened the newspaper and pretended to read it, when he was really scanning all pages for something valuable. It almost escaped him, but on the tenth page, he noticed a small circle around a letter. Quickly scanning the first pages of the paper again, he found other letters, which were circled in the same way.

John made a note of all letters, in the order they were appearing, and sent them in a text to Mycroft.

ING7ZU8MO. Does that mean anything to you? -JW

It means that someone is about to get detained and questioned about treason. Good work. -MH

John smiled to himself. Sherlock would’ve probably been able to tell that it had been the newspaper, all along. And of course, he would’ve seen the letters immediately, not just after searching for random clues. But, still, the job was done, and John was feeling better for it. He carefully folded the newspaper and stored it away under his jumper, in fear he could lose it. Not that the code, probably a password, would still be valid by now - he just didn’t want to take any chances.

\---

"The bastard had been leaking our internal passwords, which change every 6 hours," Mycroft grumbled, engrossed in his laptop screen, as John returned to his office. "Always just in time for someone to log in for half a few minutes, before it changed again."

The doctor slumped down on the chair, opposite of Mycroft's desk. "I believe you intercepted him before he left the building again?"

"Yes," the government official answered absentmindedly. "Sorry, give me a minute?"

"Sure."

John leaned back and took out his mobile phone. No new messages. Well, why would there be? He sighed.

Are you getting out of the hospital tomorrow? Should I pick you up? -JW

The answer came within record time. John chuckled. Sherlock must be pretty bored.

Yes. No. -SH

Not happening. I'm picking you up. Luckily for you, I'm a doctor and I know when patients usually get released during the morning. -JW

This time the answer took a little bit longer.

Do whatever you like. -SH

John laughed again. He would probably never admit it to Sherlock, but he found the detective's sulky moods rather cute. But then again, he also thought that he'd never act on his attraction to Sherlock's brother, either, and that decision had clearly been taken from him.

He looked up to find Mycroft still busily typing away at his laptop, looking rather annoyed. Well, John couldn't exactly blame him for that. New employees for these kind of facilities had to go through a staggering amount of tests and screenings. He could even imagine Mycroft doing the final pick himself. Which made such a betrayal even more jarring.

But it also meant that Mycroft was putting a great deal of trust in John, who was now basically also the politician's employee - without going through any tests. It was funny how it had come to this, from their first meeting, where John had been convinced that the older man was some kind of super villain. It wasn't until later, that he had found out his relations to Sherlock. Archenemy, huh? In a way, that still rang true. He thought of Mycroft as the only person, who could put Sherlock in his place, which should make him his antagonist, but their brotherly bond always prevailed. It was a curious situation, a kind of friendly power play. John enjoyed watching them play it out.

John remembered the exchange he had with Mycroft at Buckingham Palace.  
'This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.'  
'You don't trust your own Secret Service?'  
'Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.'  
Back then, and on many other occasions, Mycroft had only placed his trust in him, because John had been working with Sherlock. But then Mycroft had offered John that job alone. Just him. John smiled. The doctor felt proud to know he had earned that. 'Loyal to a fault', huh?

"You are having a lot of fun over there," Mycroft remarked.

"Ah, yeah, sorry," John answered. "I just remembered something. About you."

"I am glad to know that I can contribute to your amusement."

"Oh, come on, Mycroft. Are you really pouting?", John laughed and got up from his chair, walking around the desk to Mycroft's side.

"I believe I am," Mycroft crossed his arms and shot John a mock-pouting frown.

"You need to relax a little. Let me help."

John walked around the desk to behind Mycroft's chair and placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. With a strong grip and a little bit of knowledge, he started to massage the politician's shoulders. Mycroft sank into his chair under John's touch, leaning his head back against the doctor's chest. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Mycroft with closed eyes, humming contently.

As John moved his hands up to Mycroft's head and started to rub his fingers in slow circle’s through the other man’s hair and over his temples, the older Holmes all but melted into his touch and a low moan escaped him. John chuckled slightly at that, enjoying the pleasure he was apparently administering.

"I really do wish I was not so busy right now," Mycroft sighed.

"Why's that?"

Mycroft reached up and grabbed John by his collar, pulling the doctor's head down to his eye level, pressing his lips to the other man's ear.

"Because I would have you fuck me right here on this desk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a place to end the chapter, huh?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Mycroft continue.

"And what should stop me from doing just that?", John grinned, lowered his head over Mycroft and playfully nibbled at the other man's throat.

Mycroft leaned his head back to allow John better access, but couldn’t stifle a laugh while doing so. It was both arousing... and tickling.

"At least three reasons come to mind right now," he said, and pointed at the phone on his desk, where, indeed, three lamps were blinking, threatening to take Mycroft away on some work errand.

"Tell them to wait," John replied and threw his arms around the politician, burying his face in the other's neck. "I... don't want to leave now. Please."

Mycroft sighed and reluctantly freed himself from the doctor's embrace to be able to reach the phone, hoping that the other hadn’t seen the little smile, that played on his lips. The doctor was right where he wanted him to have, why would he leave now? But it was still nice to hear the slight begging. He cleared his throat and pressed a button.

"Is the suspect apprehended?"

"Yes, sir. He is detained in one of our cells," the answer from Mycroft's secretary came immediately via the loudspeaker.

"Good. I will take care of the interrogation myself. Cancel all my other appointments for today and take my calls," Mycroft ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell them to bring the man into the usual room and keep him there until I start the procedure."

"I will give the order. Anything else?"

Mycroft smirked. "Don't give him anything to eat or drink. Just leave him until I arrive."

"Understood."

Mycroft pressed the button again, cutting off communication. Then he leaned back, only to be embraced by the doctor's arms again, who pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"So you're leaving me now, to interrogate the bloke?", John asked, disappointed. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he heard real or played disappointment from the doctor’s voice. It both pleased and displeased him at the same time to not be able to read John’s intentions. It meant that the doctor displayed skill, but also that his own steps were harder to plan. Luckily, he knew exactly where the current situation was supposed to be going.

"Who said anything about leaving?", Mycroft grinned. "I just cancelled all my other appointments. And I would rather let the bastard wait all night."

"With no food or drink? You're some kind of a sadist, aren't you?", John laughed.

"Oh, you have no idea," Mycroft purred darkly and pulled the doctor closer, so their lips would touch, but didn't move any further, waiting for the other man to make the move.

"You're impossible," John murmured while his mouth still touched Mycroft's and smiled against him.

"I try."

The following kiss was surprisingly slow, gentle and without any rush at all. It seemed like they both just wanted to enjoy the moment. Starting out without any tongue, they traded little pecks, until John moved around the chair and sat down on Mycroft's lap, never interrupting the kiss. As soon as he had settled, the kiss grew deeper, but entirely unhurried. Both tried out different techniques, nibbling and sucking, trying to elicit more moans from the other person, than they would utter themselves.

After a while, Mycroft reached for John's hands with his, pulling them both behind John's back, holding them in place with his left one. The right one started to slowly open the doctor’s shirt’s buttons, glad that he had, for once, forgone to wear his hideous jumper. One of the advantages of summer weather, Mycroft thought.

John could’ve easily escaped Mycroft’s grip, but that wasn’t really the goal of the effort. He rather enjoyed scrutinising Mycroft’s concentrated face, as the politician worked his way through the buttons, rather admiring the way, he proceeded to open them with just one hand, rather quickly. He caught himself trying to count the little, almost not visible freckles around Mycroft’s nose. The advantages of summer weather, John thought.

“Someone’s impatient,” he chuckled. “You said we could have all night.”

“Who made me cancel all my appointments, because he did not want to leave?”, Mycroft countered. “Now stop squirming, sit still and let me undress you.”

“It would go a lot faster with two hands.”

“If you would prefer, I can tie your hands instead,” Mycroft looked up and locked eyes with the doctor. “Then I can use both of mine.”

John felt a strong heat rising up inside of him at Mycroft’s words, going straight to his groin. If he had been pleasantly aroused before, now the signs were definitely clearly visible. Mycroft seemed to realise immediately, as a sly grin spread on his face.

“Do not answer that, then,” he mused and removed both his hands from the other man to unravel his tie.

John swallowed hard at the sight, unconsciously moving forward on Mycroft’s lap, which made him press even more against him. Mycroft smiled and leaned forward, starting to lick and kiss at John’s chest, while reaching around the doctor and slowly wrapping his tie around the other man’s wrists. John tested the strength of the knot, under Mycroft’s fingers, who fastened it a little harder at that, eliciting a grin from John.

“I vaguely remember something about me, fucking you,” John smiled. “That will be difficult when my hands are tied.”

“Patience, my dear John, patience. Let me have my fun first, will you?”

“I suppose you will also have fun later. But for now… do your worst.”

“That really would not be appropriate today,” Mycroft laughed. “But I can make no promises for the future.”

John grabbed onto the edge of the desk with his hands, pressing himself even further into Mycroft, both of them moaning at the resulting friction between them, chair rolling back a little at John’s applied pressure.

“Your shirt is in the way,” the doctor said lowly, while his own open shirt exposed the skin of his chest. “Would you do me the favour? I’m rather indisposed at the moment.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Mycroft grinned. “And do stop moving around. What did I tie you up for?”

John shrugged playfully and straightened himself up. Watching Mycroft undress himself was a sight, he never had the pleasure of experiencing before. He almost regretted being so close, not being able to take in every detail of the dark haired man in front of him. But Mycroft had hinted at the future, so he reckoned that there would be a time to make up for it.

A few seconds later, he revised that thought. Make up for what exactly? John had never known that a three piece suit could be so fucking erotic - but then again, he had never met a man like Mycroft before. He watched the man carefully remove his watch and chain, placing them on the desk with a kind of reverence. Then, with all the patience in the world, Mycroft started to work on the golden buttons of his suit vest. When he was almost done, he stopped, removing his suit jacket first, placing it carefully next to the watch, only to undo the last buttons of the vest afterwards. It took ages. John wanted to complain. He really did. It was unfair, making him wait like this. But watching Mycroft shed layer after layer of cloth in front of him was making him unbelievably hard - and he hadn’t even seen any skin yet!

“What is the matter, my dear John?” Mycroft smiled, and placed his hands onto the doctor’s chest, dragging his fingers slowly, so agonizingly slow, over the exposed skin.

Oh god, it was hell. John hadn’t realised that he had been shivering in anticipation, heightened by every piece of cloth, he had seen leave Mycroft’s body. Now that he felt the contact, his skin broke out in goosebumps and he involuntarily started shaking a little.

“You seem to enjoy the show.”

“Ah… You have… no idea,” John breathed, leaning his head back, closing his eyes to concentrate on the gentle touch. It had been too long until anyone had touched him like this.

“I think I do,” he heard Mycroft say, and suddenly John’s chest was wet from the politician’s tongue, licking across it, finding his nipples, which produced an unexpected jolt. “Hmm… I wish I could lick some whiskey off you, John. Yes, that would be a most delicious combination. Maybe some gin? Ah, so many ideas, so many things to do with you. I will have to keep you around for a while, until we have been through all of them.”

“And after we complete the list?”

“I do not think that likely during my lifetime, but if it comes to that, we will start again, at the top,” Mycroft answered and grabbed onto John’s behind emphasis, pressing the doctor closer to him.

John moaned at the touch, his trousers straining. It was nothing like he had imagined it - and, yes, he had definitely imaged doing this with Mycroft Holmes, as strange as that sounds. No, it was better. So much better. The anticipation and tension in the air, the easy mood, the teasing jokes. It was a heady combination, he never knew he needed. Now he knew that he would crave it afterwards.

“Well, I do not want you to ruin your clothes,” Mycroft mused. “And as much as I would love to continue teasing you, I guess we will also put that on the list.”

“If anyone ever finds this list, we’ll be in deep trouble,” the doctor let out a hearty chuckle.

“Oh, do keep it together, John. We are conducting serious business here.”

“I’ll try.”

Mycroft smirked, raised an eyebrow at the other man and grabbed his hips, pulling him to his feet. His look clearly suggested that playtime was over. Or maybe that it had just begun? He undid his cuffs, the shirt buttons and slid the crisp, white shirt from his shoulders. The same thing happened to John’s shirt, only that it kept hanging at his wrists, where they were still tied. Mycroft then went to work on the rest of John’s clothes, until the doctor found himself stark naked.

A smile played on Mycroft’s lips, as he pushed the doctor back, so that he would lean against the desk, then dropping to his knees, himself. But instead of moving towards John, he leaned into the direction of a small desk drawer. John was temporarily confused, but as Mycroft drew his pair of glasses from it, he understood immediately. If he had been standing attention before, his erection now strained upwards, almost curving against his stomach, at the sight of the politician slowly putting on his glasses, then looking up to him.

Mycroft smirked. The bastard knew the effect he had, John thought. Well, not that he minded, but it was still a little embarrassing having his kinks catered to, like that. But Mycroft didn’t seem to care at all. He licked along John’s length a few times, until he felt the doctor shiver, then quickly enveloped him with his mouth. John gasped and his legs almost gave way. He held onto the edge of the desk with his hands while Mycroft went to work on him.

“Oh, shit,” John uttered, with a strain in his voice. “You’re too much. Too much. I’m almost… shit, Mycroft…”

The politician stopped his movement for a moment to ask “What?”

“I… no, I can’t say…”

“I believe you can, and I want you to say it.”

“Ugh, no…”

“John, if you want to come over my glasses, you have but to ask.”

Mycroft felt John’s erection twitch against his lips at these words, and his lips curved into a smile. But then he shook his head.

“Well, at a later date, that is.”

“On the list?”

“Oh, definitely,” Mycroft purred darkly, licking at John again. “But for now, I believe I asked you to fuck me on my desk.”

“I believe you did,” John answered, feeling not the slightest bit disappointed, because only the thought of Mycroft laying underneath him, all spread out on his working desk, made him almost come.

With a twist of the wrist, John undid Mycroft’s tie and put it down on the pile of clothes. They both knew that he could have freed himself at any time, but it still earned him an appreciative nod from Mycroft. But that wasn’t the only move, he had still in him. Only seconds later, he had pulled Mycroft to his feet and turned them around, pinning the politician to the desk in a way, he couldn’t keep his balance, and was trapped between falling back onto the desktop and clinging to John.

“So. Fuck you, huh?”

“Yes, if you would be so kind.”

“Oh, yes, I would. I would be so kind to fuck you so hard, your assistant should be able to hear you, even though this office is completely sound proof.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft let himself slump down on the desk, wrapping his legs around John’s body and pulling him in closer, so that John’s erection would rub over the bulge in his own pants. He smirked when that motion made John groan in pleasure. He leaned back, supporting his upper body on two elbows, and grinned.

“I believe it is, Mr. Watson,” Mycroft smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I am quite confident in the noise cancelling effects of my office walls.”

Instead of answering, John went to work on opening Mycroft’s pants, freeing himself from the embrace of his legs and pulling the trousers and boxers down together, in one swift motion. After getting rid of everything else, Mycroft was just as naked as he was, laying in front of him on the desk. Well, naked in any regard, except those fucking, perfect glasses. Every time John looked at them, looked at Mycroft watching him through them, it was a heady rush all in it’s own. He had to remind himself to concentrate.

Endlessly long legs open in invitation, body on display, pale skin, dotted with little freckles, inviting him in, as well. It was a revelation seeing the British government offering himself to him like this. It was a headrush, a power surge. There was no doubt between them that Mycroft was still, and would always be, the one in charge, but at that moment, John wanted nothing but to fuck the politician until he couldn’t even walk anymore.

“I suppose you come prepared?”

“Upper left drawer.”

Finding a condom and lube, John was quickly prepared, but Mycroft was far from it. Slicking up his fingers, he started to work the politician open. Fingers stroked Mycroft’s ass gently, brushing by his hole ever so slightly. After a while, John cautiously tried to breach the rim. Mycroft’s reaction was instantaneous. He leaned his head back and started to moan, as soon as John had but one finger in him.

The doctor had to grin. Apparently he wasn’t the only impatient one. Not wanting to wait any longer, he was much more careless in the preparation than he wanted to be, but Mycroft pushed himself on the fingers so much, he didn’t really have a choice. A few minutes later, the other man’s patience was at an end.

“John, John… come on, fuck me already,” he murmured breathlessly, opening his legs even wider. “Don’t be a tease…”

“Your wish is my command,” John answered and lined himself up.

He wanted to push in slowly, working himself through the resistance, but Mycroft wouldn’t have it. The other grabbed onto the edge of the desk and pulled himself down on John with one swift motion. Both gasped at the close contact of their bodies - John now completely buried.

“Jesus, Mycroft,” John mouthed. “What…?”

“Less talking, more fucking,” Mycroft said with an annoyed tone.

“You get kinda impatient… and admittedly very vulgar, doing this,” John chuckled, but refrained from saying that this behaviour reminded him a lot of Sherlock. The brothers were more alike that they wanted.

“Only when my partner refuses to move. I don’t care if it hurts. Just fuck me al…”

Mycroft had his words cut off, air pushed out of his lungs at the sudden, deep thrust, John delivered as response. He could barely hold onto the edge of his desk to provide some pressure from his side, as the doctor pounded into him, almost mercilessly.

“God… oh god, John… Yes… Yes… More, harder…,” he stammered between ragged breaths.

John had almost no time to take in the beauty, which was sprawled out beneath him. He was privy to the most amazing sight, he could possibly imagine. Mycroft’s body was sweaty and flushed, looking as if his skin would feel incredibly hot to the touch. The debauched look on his face, head thrown back and forth in pleasure, mouth slightly open. The little moans and gasps, which escaped him at every thrust his body received... And then the glasses, moving up and down with every movement. John was entirely overwhelmed.

“Mycroft, I don’t think I…”

“John, no, I’m so close,” their eyes locked in a heated gaze. “Make me come… then you can come on my glasses.”

“Ugh, you’re bossy,” John didn’t stop his rhythm, even picking up some speed, feeling himself grow even harder at the prospect.

“Ah, fuck, they really do turn you on…”

Mycroft fixed his eyes on John, and gave himself completely to the pleasure. He watched the muscles in the ex-soldiers body working, as he pounded into him. He watched his own legs, draped over John’s shoulder. John’s finger holding onto him, pulling him ever closer. He pushed his glasses up in a deliberate move, and was rewarded with a deep moan from the doctor. He couldn’t keep it up much longer.

Without even being touched, he felt his whole body tense up and then release, shouting John’s name in the process. The doctor didn’t stop his relentless movement, until he was sure that Mycroft was fully spent. Of course the politician didn’t forget his promise. Even though he felt pretty boneless, he pushed John back and out of him, then slid down the desk, on his knees. A quick tug removed the condom.

He looked upwards as John stroked himself to completion, watching his doctor’s face as he watched himself coming onto the glasses, staining the politician’s face and hair in the process. When John’s had finished, he motioned Mycroft to wait - a request, which the other man obeyed.

John grabbed a tissue from the desk and slowly started to clean Mycroft up, leaving the glasses for last. Finally, he took them off and carefully wiped them clean, before folding them up and putting them back into the drawer, from which he had seen Mycroft take them.

“You know, I can never watch you wear glasses again, without thinking of this.”

“That has been rather the point, my dear John,” Mycroft answered with a smile, accepted the hand, which reached out to him and pulled himself to his feet. “You know, I am very happy to indulge your little kink, if I get some spectacular sex out of it.”

“Spectacular?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there. First sex scene I've ever written. Not entirely happy with how it turned out, but liking it enough to post. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock realises something.

Of course John was mad at Sherlock for pulling the stunt with the experiment. But he was also quite glad to have the detective back safe and sound at Baker Street. It had only been two nights, but the rooms somehow felt lonely without his flatmate. John pondered if Sherlock actually felt the same when John wasn’t around.

Well, that had happened sometimes when John had still worked his day job - when he had to stay overnight at the clinic. Of course it had also happened, when he had stayed with his girlfriends. Now, he was really mostly staying in, when there was nothing to do. Except that Mycroft had been calling on him quite frequently in recent times.

John also wondered how Sherlock felt about him, working for his big brother. He said that it was no big deal - that John could do whatever he pleased. And there had been no change in Sherlock’s behaviour towards him since. Well, maybe a little change. No one, who didn’t know Sherlock very well, would’ve even noticed it.

It was in the way the detective looked at his blogger, when he went off to carry out the odd job. Almost like a parent, looking at their child, going to collect a prize on stage. A curious mixture of pride and joy. It wasn’t like that was all visible on his face. But there was this gleam in his eyes, and they way he quickly turned away, when he thought that John had noticed him watching. John had expected him to be quite unhappy about the frequent absences. But the opposite was actually the case.

John was, of course, very happy about that. He could finally employ all his talents during the, sometimes really challenging, jobs, and felt more complete for it. Like he had a renewed purpose. It also showed when he went out, solving cases with Sherlock. He was taking the initiative more often, talked back to the officers and, on the whole, portrayed a more confident version of himself. 

While he still admired Sherlock’s work, and praised him frequently, he could also see the same praise for his action’s in the detective’s eyes, even though he never said something. And that recognition by not only one, but both Holmes brothers, was something he was very, very proud of. Hell, everyone in the world would’ve been proud of that. He really hoped it wouldn’t go to his head so much. But then again, he had some rough times in his life so far, and now it surely was his time to enjoy it a little?

On the whole, it made him feel more like an equal to his flatmate, and that was something he was grateful for. Grateful towards Mycroft, that was, who was the reason he had found this second wind. Sherlock had ‘picked him up’, but it had been Mycroft, with his silent and implicit trust in John’s actions, that had built up his confidence in this way.

\---

John sat in his armchair at Baker Street. He had the laptop open, ready to pen another blog entry, but he was lost in thought instead, staring right through the screen, as if it wasn’t there.

“Your tea has gone cold, John,” he heard a deep baritone say.

John blinked a few times.

“Uh, sorry. I was kinda… thinking.”

Sherlock slowly stepped around John’s chair and sat down in his own, facing the doctor.

“What about?”

“Hm, not important.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Of course you can.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John sighed and figured that it probably wasn’t worth the argument.

“I was thinking about your brother, actually,” he said, though tentatively.

The detective didn’t seem all that surprised by John’s answer. He slowly leaned back in his armchair, put one hand on each armrest and crossed his legs.

“You do that a lot. Recently.”

“Do I have letters on my forehead, which tell you?”

“You might just,” Sherlock smirked. “It’s always dreadfully obvious what goes through your mind.”

“Sorry, I guess.”

“Oh no, don’t apologise. It’s one of your finer qualities. One might call it… refreshing.”

“...thanks?”

Sherlock nodded, then directed his gaze towards the ceiling. John recognised the look. They had been mid-conversation, one that now was apparently over. Or not. It might resume later. The detective was about to embark on a train of thought - a matter, which could be over in seconds or minutes. Maybe hours. Best to get on writing then, John thought.

\---

About twenty minutes later, John chuckled.

“It can’t be that funny.”

“Oh, welcome back.”

Sherlock frowned at that comment, but gave no rebuttal. Instead he raised from this armchair with a surprisingly quick jump and stepped behind John to take a look at the laptop screen.

“You’ve been erasing that line over and over for the last few minutes. It that really the conclusion of your thoughts - the height of your creativity, John?”

“Come on, it’s funny. People like that sort of thing.”

“I’m not sure that’s the sort of people I’d like to get cases from,” Sherlock pulled a face.

“Your participation in the comments might suggest otherwise…”

A twirl on the spot, robe flapping dramatically, and the detective had departed to the kitchen. John chuckled again. A drama queen, that’s what he was. People thought him so emotionless, they’d be surprised how easily Sherlock was offended by the little things. John enjoyed teasing him, if only because he cherished being the one provoking these little emotional outbursts. It made him feel somewhat special.

“I’m sorry, okay?”, he said, while continuing to type.

The answer was an unintelligible grunting noise and the sound of water being filled into the kettle. John relaxed and let the words flow, finally getting the story in a shape he was comfortable with posting on his blog. He didn’t even realise the minutes going by, until a hand replaced his tea mug. He nodded his thanks absentmindedly.

“You said you were thinking about Mycroft,” Sherlock said slowly, standing behind John’s chair, holding his own tea mug. He carefully took a small sip, as the tea was still pretty hot. “What… exactly were you thinking about?”

John halted. Sherlock was sounding… unsure? Now that was something you didn’t encounter very often. He looked up, into the detective’s face, looming over him.

“Uhm, yes… Well, not about him in detail. About the jobs I’m doing, really.”

“You… smiled.”

“Ah, yeah. Because I’m enjoying them. They keep me busy. On edge.”

“I can see that…”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

The detective leaned over John to place his mug next to the doctor’s on the small side table, then kneeled behind the armchair, so that John could no longer see him. As the other made a motion to stand up and turn around, he found two hands gently pressing him back into the seat.

“Sorry. Could you stay like that for a while and listen?”

“Sure…,” John swallowed nervously.

“I don’t usually do these things. So let me finish first, please.”

John nodded and closed his laptop, putting it on the floor beside the chair, to indicate that Sherlock had his full attention - for whatever he was about to say. It took a while for Sherlock to start speaking again, and his voice sounded very small when he did.

“I’m happy to see you happy, John,” Sherlock started. “So happy. And proud. I’ve always seen you... as my equal, no matter what people might’ve said… I… I don’t think… no… uhm…”

John patiently waited for Sherlock to find the words, realising that he had probably never heard the detective speak his mind like this before, and didn’t want to ruin the moment. But he was getting increasingly nervous the longer Sherlock fiddled around.

“You’re so much more than ‘just’ my blogger, John. I don’t think I could continue my work without you. And with your new enthusiasm, I find working together with you… much more stimulating as ever before…. Only…”

Sherlock swallowed and his voice cracked a little.

“... only I wish that I could’ve been the one to raise you up like this. That I could’ve been the one to give your life more meaning.”

John felt something in his heart twist. He knew exactly where this was going. He had feared this from the day he had started out his new job.

“I am… grateful to Mycroft. Don’t tell him, please. He would have a field day with that sentence. But I really am,” there was a little smile in Sherlock’s voice. “I can see you being fulfilled… happy with this new arrangement. And I have nothing against it. It’s just…”

John felt the hands on his shoulders again, only this time they wandered further, and he felt himself embraced from behind, Sherlock pressing his face into the crook of his neck. He stayed like this for a few seconds, then slightly raised his head, so that his mouth was on level with John’s ear.

“It’s just that I feel like he’s taking you away from me. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s… I’m afraid John. Afraid that you’ll leave me… Please...”

There was a slight pause, during which John didn’t dare to breath.

“Please… don’t go…”

And then Sherlock pressed himself to John again, burying his face. The doctor felt the other man’s breath on his skin, heartbeat clearly elevated. It took him some seconds to react, but not as long as he’d thought. Slowly raising his right hand, he placed it in Sherlock’s unruly head of hair, slightly ruffling it.

“You idiot,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’d be lost without me, I’m sure.”

All he got as a response was a loud sob and the feeling of tension leaving Sherlock’s body as he finally allowed himself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, huh. Yeah. Update, yay!  
> I felt like Sherlock's thoughts on the whole arrangement were important, so this is a small excursion into something a little Johnlocky... I'd really like to explore the dynamic of all three characters and how John is torn between the Holmes' brothers. Don't worry, there's still more Johncroft to come. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

John stumbled out of the cab and almost fell over his own feet on the way to the door of 221b. He avoided looking back, so he wouldn’t meet the eyes of the cab driver, who was probably shaking his head over the drunk doctor. But then again, maybe he was used to having drunk customers at this time of the night and didn’t even acknowledge their self-inflicted plight anymore. The fact that he stepped on the gas as soon as John walked a few feet confirmed this suspicion.

The doctor shrugged and fumbled with his keys. It seemed like a little eternity until he managed to open the door. He hadn’t been this drunk in a long time. But Greg had insisted that at least one of them attend the celebration after Sherlock helped bring down a smuggler ring. And as John had also been an instrumental part, this duty logically fell to him. No one had expected Sherlock to party in a pub with the people from NSY anyway.

John made it to the stairs and had to sit down. Greg could really hold down his drink. Whatever had made John go along with the DI - he definitely regretted it now. A quick glance at his phone told him that it was almost 2AM. Mrs. Hudson was certainly asleep now and wouldn’t mind the doctor taking a quick rest on the stairs. The world was spinning too much to get up again at the moment.

A gentle shake at his shoulder surprised the doctor and roused him from his light sleep. It took him a moment to realise that he had indeed fallen asleep on the stairs to the flat. He should’ve expected that. What he didn’t expect was to be embraced by long arms and picked up in a swift motion.

“Wha… who… Sherlock?” John mumbled sleepily.

“Greg didn’t go easy on you,” Sherlock determined - it wasn’t a question. “Let me get you to your room.”

“I can walk…”

“You don’t have to.”

The detective slowly ascended the stairs, carrying John effortlessly, once more confirming that he was indeed much stronger than his slender frame would suggest. John sighed. He was too tired to argue, and it was futile anyway. Feeling the warmth from Sherlock’s body, he drifted back to sleep. The last thing he felt was his head falling onto the detective’s chest as his eyes closed for the last time that night.

\---

John woke up with a splitting headache. He blinked into the light, then vigorously rubbed his eyes. With a quick glance around he assessed his situation. Bedroom. Dressed in shirt and boxers, under the blanket. Glass of water on the nightstand.

So Sherlock had actually brought him to his room. He had not expected that. John sighed deeply. It wasn’t that he did not appreciate the gesture. No, really he did. It was infinitely nicer to wake up in your bed than on the stairs. The problem was that just a week ago, Sherlock probably wouldn’t have considered carrying John to his room like a princess. No, if anything he’d prodded the doctor until he woke up and chastised him for his behaviour with some cold words, until John crawled to his bedroom, probably falling asleep in his clothes. That had actually happened before.

Something had changed that day, when Sherlock had confessed his insecurity.

It wasn’t that Sherlock had any respect for John’s personal space before. He invaded it on a regular basis. Reaching over him for stuff, leaning over his shoulder to access the laptop or pressing close to him on a stakeout. It was so frequent, John had long stopped complaining. Sometimes he wondered if he ever had. It all seemed so natural after they had moved in together. His things had blended with Sherlock’s in the flat, so that after only a few weeks, you couldn’t even see a distinction anymore.

But now, it was different. When it had always been out of necessity before - casual touches without meaning, Sherlock now actively sought out opportunities to get close to John. It was like he needed confirmation that John was still there, physically. Since the detective had thrown his arms around his blogger, getting a reassuring touch, he couldn’t seem to live without it anymore.

John was equally happy and a little concerned about their new closeness. On one hand, he enjoyed being more open with Sherlock. Hell, he had never thought that the detective would open up to him like that. It had been a small revelation to finally know Sherlock’s thoughts and feelings. On the other hand, it was a little frightening, exactly because Sherlock was being so open. He no longer thought it necessary to conceal his glances at John, and the doctor saw so much more in Sherlock’s eyes, which was still unspoken.

He knew that they had to talk about that. Someday. John was sure about it. But he had just about enough in his head thinking about his… relationship… arrangement… thing… with Mycroft, that he couldn’t even get his head around Sherlock’s feelings. Whatever they were. He knew only one thing: No matter what happened, he didn’t want what he had with Mycroft to end. It was just too perfect. He shuddered just thinking back to the afternoon in the office. There hadn’t been any other opportunity so far. All the more reason to keep going.

John was ripped from his thoughts by the low rumbling of his phone, which was still in the pockets of his trousers. As it was on the other side of the room, it meant getting up. The doctor groaned and sat upright - not without complaints from his muscles. He grabbed the thoughtfully placed glass of water and downed it together with some aspirin, he always kept ready inside his nightstand. A few moments later he was ready to get up.

Join me for lunch today? MH

No work related matter? JW

I do not believe that I need an excuse to ask you for lunch. MH

John grinned. He had actually missed Mycroft during the last week. Also he hadn’t told him about Sherlock’s new behaviour. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to, just yet. But it would be good to meet Mycroft in person to sort out some of his feelings.

No, you don’t. I’d love to. JW

Pick you up in an hour? I believe you are not in the best state to move around just yet. MH

Not asking how you know. See you later. JW

Looking forward. MH

John smiled at that last message for a while, feeling some fondness rise up within him. It wasn’t the first time that he thought that he should probably feel strange about all of this. Working unreasonable hours in strange jobs with two of the weirdest brothers on the planet, one creepier than the other. If you would look at it from the outside, John practically at their mercy, running every errand they could think of. No one would probably believe him that he had never been happier. That he wasn’t taken advantage of, but rather thought it his privilege to be able to help.

After freshening up and dressing - for once forgoing the jumper - he entered the sitting room to find Sherlock staring at a musical sheet.

“Good morning, Sherlock,” John said and waited until the detective’s attention was on him before continuing, which actually took quite a hwile. “Thank you for getting me to my room last night.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sherlock’s eyes focused on John’s face for a few seconds, then he frowned slightly. “You’re about to go out.”

“Yes. I’m having lunch.”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes wandering back and forth, like they always did when he was thinking and piecing together stray evidence. When his eyes widened in revelation, he focused back on John.

“With Mycroft.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock went back to his music sheet, seemingly ignoring John’s answer. It wasn’t an unusual reaction, but it bothered the doctor.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Enjoy your lunch.”

The answer came a little too fast. Normally, Sherlock wouldn’t bother answering if he was absorbed in another task. The speed meant that he was still with John in his thoughts. But John wasn’t in the mood to coerce the answer out of his flatmate. Especially because he was sure he knew it already.

“I will.”

A quick glance at his phone revealed that he still had about ten minutes until Mycroft would pick him up, but he decided to wait outside. Just as he was about to turn, he caught the detective’s eye, who glanced at him, as he thought John would look away. The doctor sighed. He stepped closer to Sherlock, and in a moment of daring hugged the other man, pressing the head with an unruly mess of hair to his chest for a few seconds.

“Thanks again,” he said quietly, gave Sherlock a squeeze and left the room before the detective had a moment to respond.

Sherlock didn’t leave the flat while John was waiting for Mycroft’s car. When the doctor was finally picked up, he saw the curtains moving up in the windows just as he closed the car door behind him.

But all uneasy feelings were forgotten when he found Mycroft’s lips pressed to his as a welcome greeting, instantly improving his mood. He ran a hand through the older Holmes brother’s hair and grinned into the kiss.

“Impatient, are we?”

“John, I have been waiting all week for this,” Mycroft purred and caressed the doctor’s cheek.

“I sure hope we make it to lunch. I’m starving.”

“I can not tempt you with the alternative?”

“Who’s to say we can’t have both?”

Mycroft smirked. “I like your way of thinking, Doctor Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to the Johncroft, ladies and gentlemen.


	10. Chapter 10

“You will have to define ‘lunch’, my dear John,” Mycroft chuckled and reached around the doctor with both hands to grab his ass, which was made easier by the fact that John had almost immediately straddled him as soon as the doors of the limo had been closed.

“We’re going to drive to whatever shop you had in mind and have food.”

Mycroft showed the other man a mock pout and squeezed once with both hands, then leaned over to John’s ear and whispered in a low voice: “I can imagine much tastier things than plain old food.”

John shivered a little, but as he was actually pretty damn hungry, he wouldn’t let the opportunity to get himself treated to a meal by the British government go to waste. But his resolve weakened by the second as he felt hands roaming his body and hungry lips applied to his neck.

“Mycroft…,” John laughed. “I really am hungry, you know?”

“After your program last night, everyone would be hungry, I suppose,” Mycroft sighed. “Let us not waste too much time on this, yes?”

“Agreed.”

John smiled at the other man, who had straightened himself up again and leaned in for a kiss. It was sweet and unrushed, conveying feelings, rather than lust. As he withdrew Mycroft sported a blush, spreading all over his face. He cleared his throat.

“How do you feel about Italian?” the older Holmes said, his voice unusually quiet and distracted.

“Frankly, I’d eat about anything right now, but Italian sounds lovely.”

“Very well.”

Mycroft pressed a button, which lowered the partition between the rear part of the cabin and the driver and gave some instructions. The driver nodded without looking into the rear window and the partition closed itself. Mycroft had made to attempt to push John from his lap while talking to the driver, and John didn’t really want to move over anyway.

“Do not worry. Harvey is instructed to ignore everything happening in this car, except orders directed at him.”

“Good. I don’t want to waste a second,” John moved his hips across Mycroft’s lap, digging his fingers into the politician’s hair at the same time. The resulting low and needy moan, which escaped Mycroft’s lips, was exactly the reaction John had hoped for.

“If you are trying to build up the anticipation, I can assure you it’s working,” Mycroft drew John in for another kiss - this time definitely not gentle, but hungry.

They stayed like this, mouths on each other, roaming the other’s body with their hands, hips grinding, until a discreet knock on the partition element informed them of the end of their little journey.

John drew back, straightened his shirt and all but jumped out of the car, grinning at the temporarily confused and definitely aroused look of Mycroft. The government official cleared his throat and also straightened his clothes. He grabbed the suit jacket - which he had been smart enough to remove before John had entered the car - and made a futile attempt to stand up.

“You might have to give me a few seconds, John,” Mycroft said quietly.

“Sure,” John grinned knowingly.

It was a deliciously heady feeling to be able to make Mycroft, the ‘Iceman’, lose his composure. Even during their previous encounters, that had not always happened. John decided that he had to try more often.

Finally concentrating on the street around him, John could see that they had stopped in front of a very small Italian restaurant, which had a long line outside the door. Well, it was lunch time, of course, but this seemed like one of these very popular shops that didn’t bother to expand, and had food lovers wait in line for a long time. For a brief period the doctor wondered if they might be able to get a table at all…

Mycroft exited the car, hand trying to give his hair some form, but some locks of dark, reddish hair fell across his forehead anyway. He grumbled a little, then grabbed his umbrella, despite the cheerful, sunny weather. John started to wonder if there was anything special hidden in it...

“Come along,” Mycroft said and walked right past the line into the direction of the door, which earned him a few angry stares from the waiting people.

Before he could open the restaurant entrance door, someone from the inside did it for him and greeted Mycroft with a cheerful smile.

“Mr. Holmes, so good to see you. The usual table?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

John blinked a few times, then started walking, as Mycroft waited in the door for him, gesturing to follow. He stepped past the waiting customers and nodded a few times as apology, for good measure.

As they entered the little shop, a strong aroma of cooked food greeted them - most prominently a smell of fried garlic and onions. John grew hungrier in mere seconds. A narrow, but long room housed roughly ten tables. They were guided to the one furthest from the entrance, on the other side of the building. Overlooking the garden, it was the best place in the house.

Even though it was just a small restaurant, John felt a little nervous. Mycroft seemed to catch that immediately as soon as they sat down. He gave the doctor a reassuring smile and his hand a little squeeze. The simple gesture made John concentrate only on the other man and forget the world around him for a while.

\---

The food had been great. John could see why the line had been so long - even though he would probably never wait that long for a plate of pasta, no matter how good it was.

“So, come here often?”, John asked as the plates had been cleared. “It seems like they know you.”

“Only on my own, when I have the afternoon off. Which happens rarely,” Mycroft swirled the last drops of red wine around in his glass with a circular motion. “The love for garlic they have here doesn’t really mix with important appointments.”

“But he said ‘the usual table’?”

“Ah, yes. This table is always reserved for me during lunch time, should I find the opportunity to drop in.”

The restaurant owner must earn a substantial amount of money keeping this table free, John thought. He hadn’t taken Mycroft for the sort of person to eat in this kind of… tiny establishment. But...

“You’re wondering why,” Mycroft smiled and John nodded. “Well, the risk of running into anyone I know are very small here. I quite enjoy being left alone.”

“And yet here I am,” John countered.

“And yet here you are.”

John drank the rest of his red wine and smiled at Mycroft. He enjoyed the politician’s company immensely. Intelligent conversation, impeccable manners and a disarming smile were a dangerous combination. It wasn’t the first time that he wondered how Mycroft felt about him. The obvious attraction aside, they had never talked about their feelings, though their gestures and actions had become more gentle and considerate as of late.

“So, being here means you have the afternoon off?”

“You have been paying attention, doctor,” Mycroft smirked. “Yes, it does mean that.”

John stretched his legs, so they were between Mycroft’s - a feat made easier by the small table and the other man’s incredibly long limbs. He earned a content humming noise for his proactive action.

“What a coincidence, then. I happen to have the afternoon off, as well,” John mused.

“I wonder what we can do about that.”

“We’ll think of something.”

“In that case… As much as I would like to stay here and flirt with you - most enjoyable activity by the way - I guess we better depart,” Mycroft removed himself from John’s touch and rose to his feet.

The doctor nodded enthusiastically and raised as well, grabbing Mycroft’s offered hand. They left the restaurant without paying, but John figured that it was probably already taken care of. Mycroft lived in a very different world than him, after all. But his elation wasn’t meant to last. Stepping across the doorstep, he felt his phone buzzing.

Dead body. In the Disney Store of all places. Lestrade called me. Come over at once. -SH

John groaned. Not. Now. Couldn’t the murderers of London have the decency to let him at least have one shag before he returned to work?

“That can be arranged, John.”

Mycroft grabbed John’s wrist and dragged him into the waiting car, pulling him on top of him and immediately getting to work on the buttons of his shirt. John felt momentarily confused, but was too aroused to not go along with the action.

“How…,” was the only thing he could say before Mycroft cut off his words with a heated kiss. When he drew back, John’s upper body was already unclothed.

“Your reaction to the text was a dead giveaway. It was obviously from my brother. According to your disappointed groan you were about as frustrated as I was about the prospect of not doing what we are currently occupied with. I merely pointed out that sex, before you drop in on the crime scene, can definitely be arranged.”

“Why am I even asking?”

“Indeed.”

Mycroft had already opened John’s belt and slid down the doctor’s trousers and boxers in one swift motion. John found himself naked on top of Mycroft, who was still wearing his complete ensemble. He just wanted to say how unfair that arrangement was, when he felt a finger on his lips, motioning him to be quiet. Mycroft leaned in and pressed his lips to John’s ear, first licking and then gently nibbling.

“I want to fuck you, John. Right now, like this. You will ride me until we arrive at the crime scene.”

John shuddered as Mycroft whispered the words and pressed himself closer to the other man. He was neither a top or a bottom, and actually enjoyed both ways, depending on the mood. Feeling so exposed and vulnerable right now, naked in a car on top of a fully clothed Mycroft, the idea to have the politician fill him up made him grow fully, which did not escape the other.

But then John halted.

“We… we can’t do it. Not now.”

“John, I am not in the mood for jokes.”

“No, seriously, Mycroft. I’m about to meet Sherlock. There’s no way he won’t see the signs of what we’re about to do. And he knows that I’m having lunch with you. He will see it all…”

“And?”

“And I’m not quite ready for him to find out yet,” John said quietly. “Not while I’m not sure what… what this is, actually.”

Mycroft sighed deeply, a mixture of annoyance and resignation. He put a hand on both sides of John’s head and made the doctor look into his eyes. They stayed like that for a few seconds.

“John. While my brother may be unable to act on his feelings, I feel no obligation to do the same. I will not give this up out of consideration. He is old enough to fight his own battles and cope with whatever gets thrown at him.”

“Mycroft…”

“No. I do not care if he knows. He will find out eventually. Might as well be now.”

As to prove his words, Mycroft claimed John’s mouth with so much force, the doctor was thrown of his lap into the seat behind him. Mycroft loomed over him, lips never separating. Only when John nearly ran out of breath, he backed up a little. If the discussion had calmed John down, there was no sign of that anymore.

“But I don’t know…,” John started, but was silenced by Mycroft’s stare.

“You do not know what this is? Fine,” Mycroft looked unsure for a moment, but quickly found his resolve again. “If I tell you that I like what this is and want to take it further, will you indulge me now?”

“Does this mean you…”

“Shush. Don’t bother with the sentiment. Yes or no.”

John smiled. Something in his heart fell into the right place and his thoughts became clearer.

“Yes.”

\---

When John exited the car about ten minutes later, his clothing wouldn’t suggest anything amiss. Except the skipped jumper, everything was as usual. He greeted Donovan, who was outside the store, fending off curious watchers with her colleagues. She didn’t even bother to look at him, just gave a nod in return. Lestrade welcomed John and showed him to the part of the shop, where the body had been found.

“John, you’re…,” Sherlock turned around, but then his words failed him.

Sherlock took one look at him and knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murder at the Disney Store. bwahaha (sorry)


	11. Chapter 11

John had expected Sherlock to notice, of course. But he was still very anxious about his best friends reaction. The moment the detective had frozen mid-sentence, John also didn’t dare to move a muscle. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Sherlock’s eyes roamed all of John’s body. The doctor let himself be scrutinised.

Lestrade eyed the pair with confusion, but didn’t dare say anything, sensing the weird atmosphere. Everyone around them went quiet. Anticipation was building, even though no one knew what it was that they were waiting for. Then, with a few very quick steps, Sherlock moved alongside John, sticking his nose into the doctor’s hair, inhaling deeply.

“Sherlock? What the hell?” Lestrade said before John could react.

The detective let out a frustrated huff and shook his head. Without looking at John again, he walked back to the victim’s body - which was half buried in a mountain of stuffed toys - and kneeled down to investigate it further. Lestrade and John made eye contact for a few seconds, during which John shrugged, as if he didn’t know what this had been about.

So Sherlock chose to ignore the fact for now. Fine, John could work with that. He didn’t want to have a fallout in front of the Yard anyway. Still, he cautiously raised a sleeve to his nose, sniffing it. He couldn’t detect anything extraordinary, but then again he wasn’t Sherlock…

“What do we have?”, John addressed Lestrade in a cheerful tone to dispel some of the strange tension.

“Well, we got a call about two hours…”

“Don’t bother.”

“What?”, Lestrade turned around to find Sherlock suddenly standing behind him.

“I said: don’t bother. I solved it. It’s obvious.”

Lestrade and John looked a bit dumbfounded, but then the DI urged Sherlock to explain himself.

“It was the assistant store manager,” Sherlock gestured towards a woman, who was standing in a corner of the shop with the rest of the employees.

“You have to give me a little more than that.”

“Oh, at least try to keep up,” Sherlock sounded more annoyed than usual. “Or pretend you’re making an effort. It’s all there.”

“Sherlock, we talked about that tone…”

“Oh, shut. up. John,” the words came out harsh and punctuated. They did, in fact, shut John up quite effectively. He shivered on the inside. Sherlock hadn’t been that angry for a long time. Bored, annoyed or on edge… yes. But you could deal with those. Angry? Better take cover. Even Lestrade took a step back.

“Fine. Let me walk you through it,” Sherlock pointed at the victim. “The man works as a part-timer here. He was obviously killed about 4 hours ago, which would put the time right before the opening of the shop. He was then hidden inside the stuffed toy display stand. No one would do that, if they had another choice of hiding place. If you remove all the toys, you will find the bloodstains on the floor, which have also been covered by the stand. Because it was outside opening hours, the victim must’ve belonged to the shop employees. But today wasn’t his shift. Obviously he was meeting someone, who he would find at the shop during the morning. Today, the assistant shop manager was the only one here to open the shop, as two other part-timers are sick. It doesn’t seem like a planned killing, rather an accident, which had to be covered up quickly. As for the motive, I would blame it on…”

Sherlock didn’t seem to catch his breath during the monologue, talking fast and relentlessly like a waterfall. Only in the end he paused, locking eyes with John, narrowing them, then continued with his speech.

“...sentiment. Love.”

“Okay, wow. I think I got most of that,” Lestrade scribbled on his notepad. “But why didn’t you say so when you arrived? Why did we have to wait half an hour for John, when it was so obvious?”

Sherlock sighed, eyes never leaving John, who in turn was too anxious to break eye contact himself. For a few moments, it seemed like Sherlock would ignore Lestrade’s question completely, then his shoulders slumped a little.

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I thought I might’ve rather enjoyed watching John solve the case before the police. As he is very surely more intelligent than any of your lot, I wanted him to give it a try. But it seems like he found other… enjoyments.”

Without notice, Sherlock stormed off the crime scene, coat dramatically flowing behind him. Lestrade shook his head.

“So, what was that all about?”, the DI asked John as Sherlock had left the building.

“I’m very sure that you don’t want to know,” the doctor said quietly. “I’ll see where he went.”

And with that John also hurriedly left the store, leaving behind some very, very confused policemen.

\---

Finding Sherlock in London, when he didn’t want to be found, was an impossible task. John knew that perfectly well as he ran after the detective, hoping to catch him. But Sherlock had been quicker. There was no sign of him.

John knew that he could ask Mycroft to help him out, and that the elder Holmes would very probably aid him in his search. But Mycroft was the reason Sherlock had stormed off in the first place, so that wasn’t the best idea after all. And he wanted to handle this on his own, standing up for his actions and choices, not hiding behind Mycroft. He owed Sherlock that much, surely. The decision to reveal everything today had been partially taken from him, but he knew he had to face this situation some day, and he’d rather get it behind him sooner than later.

Well, that was if he could actually find Sherlock. John didn’t find him in his usual bolt-holes, though he was never sure if he knew all of them. Lestrade or the other Yard policemen hadn’t seen him again. He couldn’t find him in Hyde Park - where Sherlock often wandered when thinking about something. It wasn’t all that unusual for the dark haired man to spend time alone. The detective would come home eventually… right? John let out a big sigh. At least it was time for him to give up for the day. There was nothing he could do to find Sherlock if the detective didn’t want him to, after all.

The sun had already set when John opened the door to 221b. Mrs. Hudson seemed to be out - the house was dark and quiet. Out of routine, the doctor immediately entered the kitchen to put on some water for tea. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, just sat down at the kitchen table. Leaning his head on both hands, elbows on the tabletop, he stared at the opposite wall.

He didn’t so much worry about Sherlock right now, as he did about their upcoming talk. The thing weighing most heavily on his mind was his own bad conscience. John tried talking himself into the belief that it wasn’t his fault, that he had done nothing wrong. And he really hadn’t, objectively. There was nothing wrong with two adults having some fun. But the fact that the other adult was Sherlock’s older brother was something that was not exactly helping the whole situation. John wondered if his flatmate would’ve reacted similar if he had entered a relationship with another man, who wasn’t Mycroft. Sherlock had never reacted so violently with John’s girlfriends. Was the difference in the gender? Maybe a little of both, he wagered.

“John?”

A quiet voice ripped the doctor from his thoughts. He turned his head to the sitting room, where he found a dark, tall figure standing in the twilight. It was just dark enough to hide Sherlock’s face, so John couldn’t plan a reaction accordingly, though the tone of voice had been soft, almost gentle and sad. A far cry from the anger a few hours ago.

“...yes?” John tried as cautiously as he could, when he saw that Sherlock wasn’t moving, then cleared his throat once. “You’ve been here all afternoon?”

“Most of it,” Sherlock admitted, but still didn’t move. With his arms crossed, clinging to his own frame for support, he looked fragile and unsure. John’s heart ached seeing him like that, knowing that he was the reason for… this.

Unsure of how to progress, John simply said “I looked for you.”

“Yes. I know.” There was none of the usual smugness in Sherlock’s voice. It sounded almost broken.

John couldn’t take it anymore. The atmosphere threatened to constrict him and a knot in his chest tightened. He rose to his feet and quickly made his way over to Sherlock. The detective made no effort to dodge him as John first placed his hands on Sherlock’s arms, then drew him into a hug, pressing his head to Sherlock’s shoulder. They stayed like this for a while, until John suddenly felt Sherlock shaking. He looked up to find tears staining the detective’s face, falling silently. It was such a heartbreaking scene, John’s eyes also filled with tears.

“Sherlock. Please talk to me…,” the doctor’s voice broke during the few words.

“Why did you lie to me, John?”

“What...?”

“You said you wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“But I’m still here.”

“You’re already gone.”

John straightened up and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, searching for the meaning, but was at a loss. He shook his head. “I don’t understand…”

Sherlock raised his right hand and placed it on John’s heart. The smaller man shivered at the intimacy of the gesture and the contact. The detective pulled his lips into a sad smile.

“Your body is still present physically. But right here, you’re already gone.”

John swallowed once and frowned, eyes darting around. He hadn’t been prepared for that. He had been prepared for anger, discussions, accusations, excuses. Not this. Sherlock radiated nothing but defeat. Sadness. Understanding even. It was unbelievable. John’s legs gave way and he sank to the floor. Sherlock kneeled down in front of him.

“What… what can I do… I…?”, John muttered.

Sherlock put a hand to John’s jaw and made the doctor look at him. He smiled.

“Nothing. I love you, so I hope you will be very happy.”

At those words, John started to sob heavily. It was like a dam was broken. He fell into Sherlock’s arms, who immediately embraced him. The detective cradled him and patted his head. It felt strangely right. But it was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be the one taken care of right now. It should be the other way around. John felt so, so guilty and shattered, he wondered if he could ever stop crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this fic started out so lighthearted. Where did all this angst come from? D:  
> What are these characters doing to me? *cries too*


	12. Chapter 12

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. There was no real reason to worry. Or was there? If it wouldn’t look that undignified, Mycroft would pace through his office. But he restrained himself to a slightly unnerved, rhythmic tapping of fingernails on his wooden desk, even though he had no audience to judge him. It wouldn’t do to pick up bad habits.

Had he made a mistake? He had looked so sure in front of John. Well, had to, frankly. Admittedly, looking back, he wasn’t at all sure that had been the right decision. They had to tell Sherlock some day, that much was true. But so soon after he and John had only started to realise - and not even openly admit - their feelings? Mycroft cringed out of reflex. Feelings. But his fingers stopped moving nervously, as John’s face appeared in front of his mind’s eye.

Mycroft relaxed a little. He had meant every word he said. No matter what his public opinion of sentiment was, there was no denying the warm feeling in his heart when he thought about the doctor. Sure, it had started out as a work relation. It had probably never been a proper friendship before they started getting intimate. At least not what Mycroft understood as friendship. Not that he had much experience in that field. But love. Yes, you could call it love. That he knew. Regretfully. Happily. In all kinds of ways.

And it was love that made him stake his claim in such a drastic way. Or jealousy? No, ridiculous. Mycroft Holmes didn’t get jealous. Especially not of his younger brother.

Now he wished he could take it all back. The radio silence was killing him. Not knowing what was going on was horrible. All kinds of outlandish scenarios floated in his head. What had his selfishness gotten John into?

After Mycroft had left the doctor at the crime scene, he had of course continued to monitor the scene. He had seen it all from Sherlock’s initial shock until his sudden, dramatic departure. He had watched Sherlock wander aimlessly for a while, then return to Baker Street. He had watched John look for Sherlock, not wanting to call him if the doctor opted to not to call on Mycroft first. And he hadn’t. The government official respected that. Then John had vanished into the flat at 221b. And now it was dark and quiet. It had been quiet for hours. What in the world could have happened…?

A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was almost midnight now. That was enough. Mycroft would have to go to Baker Street himself. He… didn’t even manage to get up before a noise ripped through the silence of his office. Not very loud, it still seemed dreadfully out of place in this moment.

Come to Baker Street now. -SH

Mycroft blinked at his phone for all but two seconds, then was out of the door.

\---

It seemed like no one was in that night. The silence wasn’t all that unusual. It was often quiet in Baker Street on a normal night, if Sherlock was occupied researching and reading. And John was never the one to disturb the quiet. But there was no light, either, that night. The sitting room and kitchen were shrouded in darkness. If you didn’t know, you would miss the pile of two bodies, sitting on the floor, very easily.

None of them moved. Sherlock had his back leaned against John’s armchair, legs angled, feet placed on the floor. Between his legs, the doctor was lying pressed to his chest, drawn into an intimate embrace. He had cried himself to sleep, finally letting go after talking through the whole mess. Sherlock allowed himself a smile as he carefully brushed John’s hair. No matter the cause of the current situation, John was still feeling so comfortable with him that he had no troubles completely letting down his guard.

The door downstairs opened and closed. Cautious steps were placed on the way up to the flat. Someone avoided first step of the stairs. Didn’t hit the noisy plank on the fourth. Avoided the loose nail on the upper level.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said softly just before his brother entered the room.

The addressed stepped through the open door and stopped to look around. His night vision wasn’t the best, but he could make out his brother and the doctor on the floor. He drew in a nervous breath and was at a loss on how to proceed. Now that didn’t happen very often. Sherlock knew as much, but had enough tact to refrain from a comment. In fact, none of them uttered a word. There was an immediate, unspoken agreement between them to not wake up John.

Mycroft had to search for his words first. For both John and Sherlock. He did something very out of his character and sat down on the floor in front of the pair. As for Sherlock, he was content just holding his doctor, blogger and best friend close. It was impossible for each of them to judge the time, that was passing as they stared into each other’s eyes, trying to read the opposites thoughts.

Then, Mycroft sighed and mouthed, barely audible. “You called me?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Why?”

“You are needed.”

Mycroft frowned and looked down at the doctor, who was contently snuggled up against his younger brother. Just as if this was his rightful place in the world to be. And Mycroft had the feeling that it really was. He felt a painful stab in his chest.

“No,” Sherlock seemed to have followed his older brother’s thoughts. “He belongs with you. I see that now.”

Mycroft had never heard his brother sound so sad and defeated before. No matter how antagonistic they appeared in public, that was something he had never wanted. He couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. He had ruined two lives with his meddling in getting between Sherlock and John. How could he have done that? He should have never acted on his fondness for the doctor. He should have stopped it when he had the chance. Keep it casual, at least. Why hadn’t he…

“Mycroft,” Sherlock’s soft but stern mention of his name snapped the older Holmes out of his thoughts. He realised that he was about to get up and leave, but now he focused on Sherlock again. “Take John. He belongs to you.”

“Brother mine…,” Mycroft whispered and sank to the floor again. He shifted over and extended his hand, placing it on Sherlock’s leg in a gesture of closeness.

“Yeah, you don’t get to decide that without me.”

Both Holmes jumped at the sudden sound and looked down. John moved from his sleeping position and sat upright. Focusing his eyes on the darkness, he rubbed the dried tears from his face and then looked up at Sherlock. The detective was unmoving and expressionless. But turning around, he found a sight he hadn’t thought he’d see… ever. Mycroft sitting on the floor like a normal person. The little light from the street, which found its way into the room was reflected by tears streaming down his face. 

John’s own eyes widened in shock. He immediately threw himself at Mycroft and took the other man’s head in both hands. Carefully kissing the tears from Mycroft’s face, he murmured soft endearments to the politician. Mycroft sobbed quietly, letting himself be embraced by John.

“I’m so sorry…,” he finally said. “I never meant to…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing is solely your fault. There’s always two people making decisions,” John grabbed the cloth of Mycroft’s suit. “And my decision is you.”

Mycroft finally allowed himself to put his arms around John and buried his head in the crook of John’s neck. His heart was beating frantically, his head was still refusing to accept the reality of the situation. But John missed no second to draw him back to it.

“Mycroft, I love you,” John said softly and felt the other man press himself ever so slightly more close at the words. But then he sighed deeply and collected his courage. “But if you make me choose between you and Sherlock, this will not work.”

The detective said nothing, but you could hear him shift his weight uncomfortably behind John.

“The fact that I love you does nothing to my feelings for Sherlock. I love him in a different way and will never let him go. That will never change.”

It was obvious from his tone of voice that John had a hard time voicing his feelings like that. But he was not the type to beat around the bush. And was not going to lose Mycroft or his brother by being dishonest, not now, not later. He was not going to lose the two men that had given his life meaning and joy.

“I would never take you away from my brother, John,” Mycroft answered and looked up again. “Everyone who would want to separate you two is a madman. To know that you love me is more than I wished for. We can make this work.”

“Ugh, spare me your sentiment,” Sherlock snapped, which made John chuckle. The detective had found his usual demeanour again. It was all going to be okay.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s lips and felt the other smile against him.

It was all okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. It ended very differently from how I thought, but I'm quite happy with it. After this I will probably only write oneshots for a while.
> 
> I wish John and Mycroft all the best for the future and a fluffy life. <3


End file.
